(^ 



Library of Congress. 

CHAP.'PlillS-L- 
SHELF,..S^33i 



.UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.- 

I 9—167 ^ 



THE 



HAEP AND THE CROSS 



COLLECTION OF RELIGIOUS POETRY, 



COMPILED BY 

/ 
STEPHEN G. BULFINCH. 



' Spirit of God ! whose glory once o'erhung 
A throne, the ark's dread cherubim between, 
So let thy presence brood, though now unseen. 
O'er those two powers by whom the harp is strung, 
Feeling and Thought I — till the rekindled chords 
Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words ! " 

Hehans. 



BOSTON: 
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION, 

21 BEOMFIELD STREET. 

• 1857. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 
THE AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION, 
the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



S428? 







CAMBRIDGE : 
ELECTROTTPED AND PRI>T:ED BY METCALP AND COMPANY. 



NOTICE 



In preparing this collection of religious po- 
etry, the attempt has been made to meet the 
various occasions which suggest devout thought. 
The compiler has found pleasure in presenting 
specimens from writers in the same communion 
with himself ; but piety and genius have been 
welcomed from every source. The different pro- 
ductions have been arranged upon a general 
plan, commencing with the lessons which Na- 
ture teaches, and ascending to the highest an- 
ticipations of Christian faith. 

The work, undertaken at the request of the 
Executive Committee of the American Unita- 
rian Association, has been adopted as one of 
their series of books entitled The Devotional 
Library. Four volumes in this series are 
now published, to wit : — Vol. I. The Altar 



IV NOTICE. 

at Home; Vol. 11. The Christian Doctrine of 
Prayer, by Rev. J. F. Clarke ; Vol. III. The 
Rod and the Staff, by Rev. T. T. Stone ; Vol. 
IV. The Harp and the Cross, by Rev. S. G. 
Bulfinch. 



CONTENTS 



PART I. 



NATURE. 

Page 

Morning Hymn of a Hermit .... J". Sterling 1 

Morning Thoughts 3fary Hotcitt 4 

The Wanderer's Adoration .... Wordsworth 6 

A Sabbath Summer Noon W. 3IothericeU. ... 7 

The Use of Flowers 3lary Hoicitt. ... 11 

The Woodland Sanctuary F. D. Huntington. . . 12 

Scene after a Summer Shower . . . A. Noi-ton 13 

The Pastor's Prayer at Sunset . . . Wordsworth 15 

Eventide J. T. Fields 20- 

The Evening Hymn T.IfiUer. . . . . 20 

Evening Song of the Weary .... 3Irs. Hemans. ... 23 

The Rising Moon W. B. 0. Peabody. . 24- 

The Light of Stars W. H. Furness. . . . 25- 

The Infinity of Space J. Sterling 26 

Melodies and Mysteries C. Machay 28 

Correspondences C. P. Cranch. . . . 29- 

Niagara J. G. C. Brainard. . _ . 32- 

The Backwoodsman E. Peabody 33- 

Lines written at Toccoa Falls . . . . S. G. Bidjinch. . . . 35- 

Tongues A. D. T. W. . . . . 27^ 

The Lilies of the Field Agnes Strickland. . . 39 



VI CONTENTS. 



PART II. 

REVELATION I THE OLD TESTAMENT. 

The Bible B. Barton 41 

Pledges of Mercy J. Kelle 43 

Angelic Visitants C. Ifachay 46 

Song of the Manna-Gatherers .... J". Keble. 47 

The Burial of Moses Dvhlin Univ. Magazine. 51 

Euth A. A. Watts 54 

Naaman's Servant J. Keble 55 

The Libation H. Ware, Jr 57 



PAET III 

THE GOSPEL. 



A Christmas Hymn A. Domett 61 

The Christmas Bell R. P. Rogers. ... 63 

Danger of Praise J. Keble 65 

Sonnet: "Upon the mountain's height " Sacred Offering. . . 67 

Cana J. F. Clarice. ... 68- 

Sonnet: "He stood within the Temple" Sacred Offering. . . 69 

The Image of the Earthy T. H. Gill. .... 70 

Sonnet: "Come unto me" Sacred Offering. . . 71 

The Saviour in the Throng of Human 

Life J. Sterling 72 

Sonnet: "I am the resurrection" . . Sacred Offering. . . 74 

Lazarus and Mary • -4. Tennyson 75 

Comfort Mrs. E. B. Browning. 77 

Communion Hymn N. L. Frothingham. . 77- 

The Master S. B. Rohbins. ... 78 

Hymn to Jesus S. Judd 80 

" I will not leave you comfortless " . . Margaret Fuller Ossoli. 82- 

Communion Hymn N. L. Frothingham. . 85 

Hymn J. Pierpont 86 

Christ in the Garden J. Keble 88 



CONTENTS. Vll 

The Two Sayings Mrs. E. B. Brotming. 91 

The Saviour's Dying Hour Mrs. Eemans. ... 92 

The Crucifixion F. H. Hedge 94 

" Darkness shrouded Calvary '' . . . S. F. Adams 96 

3klary by the Cross W.J. Fox 96 

Sonnet: " Stretched on the cross" . . Sacred Offering. . . 97 

Looking unto Jesus Mrs. Miles 98 

Lines at the Holy Sepulchre .... Sandys 99 

Mary and John, before the Resurrection S. G. Bulfinch. . . .100 

Sonnet: " At early morn " Sacred Offering. . . 102 

The Walk to Emmaus Coicper 103 

The Ascension Faber 105 

The Christian Thrones W. F. Lunt 107 



PART IV. 

MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

Holy Baptism J. Keble Ill 

Baby Carl Mrs. S. F. Clapp. . . 113 

West's Picture of the Infant Samuel . F. Feabody 115 

To my Guardian Angel Faber 116 

Lines to D. G. T. of Sherwood .... Mrs. Horsford. . . .117 

Written in a Prayer-Book B. Barton 119 

The Soul B. a Waterston. . . 120 

The Building of the House C. Mackay 122 

New Year's Day W. B. 0. Feabody. . 125 

On Xew Year's Day Sacred Offering. . . 128 

Close of the Year Ebenezer Elliott. . . 128 

Churches in Boston 0. W. Holmes. . . . 129 

Love, Hope, and Faith S. Judd. 133 

Bishop Hubert B. Barton 134 

The Kingdom of God R. C Trench. . . .136 

Hymn C. H. A. Ball. . . .138 

Exaggeration Ifrs. Browning. . . 139 

The Straight Road Disciples' Hymn-Book. . 140 

Glory to God Madame Guyon. . . 140 

A ^Meditation N. L. Frothingham. . 141 



Vm CONTENTS. 

The Ocean C. P. Cranch. 

Sonnet: " Lord, what a change " . . . R. C Trench. 

Nearer to Thee S. F. Adams. 

Desires for God's Presence J. Very. . . 

God known by loving him Madame Guyon. 

Matins Mrs. Stowe. . 

God the Fountain of Love Madame Guyon. 

" Dark the faith of days of yore " . . Fox's Collection. 

Hymn of the City W. C. Bryant. 



142 
145 
146 
147 
148 
149 
150 
151 
152 



PART V. 

ACTIVE DUTY. 

On for Ever 3frs. L. J. Halt. . . 154 

Beauty and Duty The Dial. 156 

Progress T. H. Gill. .... 156 

True Best J. S. Dwight 158 

"Arouse thee, Soul!" ...... R. Nicoll 160 

The Hours J. Very 161 

The Faithful Monk a T. Brooks. . . .162 

" Not to myself alone " SargenCs Selection. . 163 

Faith's Answer 3Iiss C. Whitmarsh. . 166 

Earth's Angels Anonymous 168 

" It profiteth thee nothing " Disciples' Eymn-BooTc. 170 

*' Beg from a Beggar " R. M. Milnes. . . . 172 

From "The Men of Old" J. G. Whitiier. . . .174 

Almsgiving R. M. Milnes. . . . 175 

From " The Golden Legend " . . . . ff. W. Longfellow. . . 177 

The Secret of Piety '' Poetry of the East.'' . 181 

From " The Vision of Sir Launfal " . . /. R. Lowell. .... 182 

A Prayer of Affection Mrs. Remans. . . . 185 

" He for God only, she for God in hhn." Mrs. C. Gilman. . . 187 

The Young Teachers J. Weiss 189 

Lines on leaving Charleston . . . . S. Gilman 190 

The Wan Reapers Mrs. E. C. Judson, . . 191 

Henry Martyn at Shiraz ....... H. Alford. .... 193 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



PART VI. 

PENITENCE. 

De Profundis Clamavi C. G. Fenner. , . .196 

A Litany 31. Arnold. .... 198 

The Spreading Speck ^' Poetry of the East''' . 200 

Lines ff. Ware, Jr. ... 201 

A Supplication F. D. Huntington. . . 203 

A Hymn 0. W. Withington. . . 207 

The Shrine and the Confessional ... C G. Fenner. . . . 208 

Hymn and Prayer J. F. Clarice 210 

A Meditation C.J. Fox 212 

Hymn in Sickness H. Ware, Jr 214 

The Pilgrim at Heaven's Gate .... C. G. Fenner. . . .215 

The Student Sacred Offering. . . 218 

Hymn J. Bowring 220 

The Gate of Heaven Disciples'' Eymn-Book. . 222 



PART VII 



TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



Action and Thought B. M. Milnes. 

From *' The Heavenly Friend "... 5. Barton. 

A Remonstrance A. A. Waits. . 

Quiet from God Sacred Offering. 

Ballad of the Tempest J. T. Fields. . . 

Written in Sickness J. Q. Adams. . , 

" A little bird I am " Madame Guyon. 

The Alpine Cross J. T. Fields. . 

Prisons do not exclude God Madame Guyon. 

De Profundis W. Croswell. . 

" Why thus longing? " Miss Winslow. 

The Poor Child's Hymn Mary Eowitt. . 

Hope is better than Ease J. Keble. . . 



. 225 
. 226 
. 227 
. 229 
. 232 
. 234 
. 236 
. 237 
. 238 
. 240 
. 240 
. 242 
. 243 



CONTENTS. 



Lines 0. W. B. Peabody. 

Consolations H. Martineau. 

Paraphrase of Psalm xxii S. K. White. 

" To whom shall we go ? " 2Irs. E. L. FoUen. 

A Prayer R. M. 31ilnes. 

God ruling in All A. Tennyson. 

A Christmas Carol C. Kingsley. 

The Hope of ^lan T. W. Elgginson. 

Prayer B. 31. 3Iilnes. 

Hymn W. H. HurMrt 

The Dead Church C. Kingsley. . 

Hope, Doubt, and Trust A. Tennyson. . 

The Millennium Cowper. . . 



. 245 
. 246 
. 248 
. 249 
. 250 
. 252 
. 253 
. 254 
. 255 
. 256 
. 257 
. 258 
. 260 



PART VIII 



DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



Songs of Being SargenVs Selection. 

To Kight J. Blanco While. . 

A Walk in a Churchyard E. C. Trench. . . 

The Child and the Mourners .... C. 3Iachay. . . . 

Lines to a Mother J. Q. Adams. . . . 

To a Dying Infant 3Irs. L. H. Sigourney. 

Little Charlie E. Alger, Jr. . . 

To J. S WW. Story. . . 

Little Herbert 3frs. S. F. Cl<ipp. . 

The Lent Jewels R. C. Trench. . . 

From " Isobel's Child " 3Irs. E. B. Browning. 

The Infant Spirit's Prayer Anonymous. . . . 

Eesignation E. W. Longfelloic. . 

Lines to a Bereaved Parent 3Irs. 3f. Lowell. . . 

Bereavement J. Keble 

Death of the New-Baptized J. Keble 

On the Death of a Beautiful Gu:l . . . 3Irs. E. L. Follen. . 

On the Death of a Young Lady . . . S. G. Buljinch. . . 

The Dying Hebrew's Prayer .... Anonymous. . . . 



. 263 
. 266 
. 267 
. 269 
. 272 

275 
. 276 
. 277 
. 280 
. 283 

283 
,290 
. 292 
. 295 
. 297 
. 299 
. 300 
. 301 
. 303 



CONTENTS. XI 

The Burial at Sea C. Sprague 307 

Verses Suggested by the Decease of the 

Rev. Mr. Wright of Boston . . . B. B. Thaicher. . . 309 

To my Friend, on the Death of his Sister J. G. Whittier. . . .310 

The Two Angels 11. W.Longfellow.. .312 

Follen J. G. Whittier. . . .314 

Lines on Channing Mrs. L. J. Hall. . . 319 

Death C.J. Fox 320 

A Death-Bed J. Aldrich 321 

The :Martyi-dom of Perpetua . . . . S. G. Bulfinch. . . .322 

Sonnet : 1 Corinthians xv G. Lunt 324 

A Funeral Song Mrs. Eemans. . . . 325 

The Angel by the Tomb S. F. Adams 327 

The Pauper's Death-Bed Mrs. C. B. Southey. . 328 

The Presence of the Departed . . . . H. Withington. . . . 330 

" Call them from the dead " .... W.J. Fox 332 

" It is told me I must die " Sargent's Selection. . 333 

For Comfort in Death Eerrick 335 

Days of my Youth St. G. Tucker. . . .336 

Farewell to Life Korner, ir. by Follen. . 337 

A Poet's Dying Hymn Mrs. Eemans. . . . 338 

"Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine" From Fenehn. . . .342 

On E.M. Milnes. . . .343 

Fragment found in a Skeleton-Case . . Anonymous 345 

Whitefield's Eemains Miss E. F. Gould. . . 347 



PART I. 

NATURE 



MORNING HYISIN OF A HERMIT. 

JOHN STEELING. 

Saveet Morn ! from countless cups of gold 

Thou liftest reverently on high 
More incense fine than earth can hold, 
To fill the sky. 

One interfusion wide of love, 

Thine airs and odors moist ascend, 
And, 'mid the azure depths above, 
With light they blend. 

The lark, by his own carol blest. 

From the green harbors eager springs ; 
And his large heart in little breast 
Exulting sings. 
1 



NATURE. 

On lands and seas, on fields and woods, 
And cottage roofs and ancient spires, 
O Morn ! thy gaze creative broods, 
While Night retires. 

Aloft, the mountain ridges beam 

Above their quiet steeps of gray ; 
The eastern clouds wdth glory stream. 
And vital day. 

By valleys dank, and river's brim. 

Through corn-clad fields and wizard groves, 
O'er dazzling tracks and hollows dim, 
One spirit roves. 

The broad-helmed oak-tree's endless growth, 

The mossy stone that crowns the hill, 
The violet's breast, to gazers loath. 
In sunshine thrill. 

A joy from hidden paradise 

Is rippling down the shiny brooks, 
"With beauty like the gleams of eyes 
In tenderest looks. 

Where'er the vision's boundaries glance, 
Existence swells with teeming power, 
And all illumined earth's expanse 
Inhales the hour. 



MORNING HYMN OF A HERMIT. 

Not sands, and rocks, and seas immense, 

And vapors thin, and halls of air, — 
Not these alone, with kindred glance, 
The splendor share. 

The fly his jocund round inweaves, 

With choral strain the birds salute 
The voiceful flocks, and nothing grieves, 
And naught is mute. 

In INIan, O Morn ! a loftier good. 

With conscious blessing, fills the soul, 
A life by reason understood, 

Which metes the whole. 

With healthful pulse, and tranquil fire. 

Which plays at ease in every limb, 
His thoughts unchecked to heaven aspire, 
Revealed in him. 

To thousand tasks of fruitful hope, 

With sldll against his toil he bends, 
And finds his work's determined scope 
Where'er he wends. 

From earth, and earthly toil and strife, 
To deathless aims his love may rise ; 
Each dawn may wake to better life. 
With purer eyes. 



NATURE. 

Such grace from thee, O God ! be ours, 

Renewed with every morning's ray, 
And freshening still with added flowers 
Each friture day. 

To Man is given one primal star ; 

One day-spring's beam has dawned below. 
From Thine our inmost glories are, 
With Thine we glow. 

Like earth, awake, and warm and bright 
With joy, the spirit moves and burns ; 
So up to thee, O Fount of Light ! 
Our light returns. 



MORNTt^G THOUGHTS. 



MART HOWITT. 



The summer sun is shining 

Upon a world so bright ! 
The dew upon each grassy blade, 
The golden light, the depth of shade, 
All seem as they were only made 

To minister delight. 



MORNING THOUGHTS. ( 

From giant trees, strong branched, 

And all their veiny leaves, 
From little birds that madly sing, 
From insects fluttering on the wing, 
Ay, from the very meanest thing. 

My spirit joy receives. 

I think of angel voices 

When the birds' songs I hear ; 
Of that celestial city, bright 
With jacinth, gold, and chrysolite, 
When with its blazing pomp of light 
The morning doth appear. 

I think of that great river 

That from the throne flows free, 

Of weary pilgrims on its brink. 

Who, thu'sting, have come down to drink ; 

Of that unfailing stream I think 
When earthly streams I see. 

I think of pain and dying. 

As that which is but naught. 
When glorious morning, warm and bright, 
With all its voices of delight. 
From the chill darkness of the night, 

Like a new life, is brought. 
1* 



NATURE. 

I think of human sorrow 
But as of clouds that brood 

Upon the bosom of the day, 

And the next moment pass away ; 

And with a trusting heart I say, 
Thank God, all things are good ! 



THE WANDERER'S ADORATION. 

FROM "the excursion." — WILLIAM WORDSWOETH. 

How beautiful this dome of sky. 
And the vast hills in fluctuation fixed 
At Thy command, how awful ! Shall the Soul, 
Human and rational, report of Thee 
Even less than these ? Be mute who v/ill, who can. 
Yet I will praise Thee with impassioned voice : 
My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd. 
Cannot forget Thee here ; where Thou hast built, 
For thy own glory, in the wilderness ! 
Me didst Thou constitute a priest of thine. 
In such a temple as we now behold 
Reared for thy presence : therefore am I bound 
To worship, here and everywhere, as one 
Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread, 
From childhood up, the ways of poverty ; 
From unreflecting ignorance preserved. 



A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. 7 

And from debasement rescued. By Thy grace 
The particle divine remained unquenched ; 
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil, 
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers, 
From Paradise transplanted : wintry age 
Impends ; the frost will gather round my heart ; 
If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead ! 
Come, Labor, when the worn-out frame requires 
Perpetual sabbath ; come, disease and want ; 
And sad exclusion through decay of sense ; 
But leave me unabated trust in Thee, — 
And let thy favor, to the end of life, 
Inspire me with ability to seek 
Repose and hope among eternal things, — 
Father of heaven and earth ! and I am rich, 
And will possess my portion in content. 



A SABBATH STOIMER NOON. 

AX EXTRACT. 

"WILLIA3I SrOTHERWELL.. 

The calmness of this noontide hour, 

The shadow of this wood, 
The fragi-ance of each wilding flower, 

Are marvellously good ; 
O, here crazed spirits breathe the balm 

Of nature's solitude ! 



NATURE. 

It is a most delicious calm 

That resteth everywhere, — 
The holiness of soul-sung psalm, 

Of felt but voiceless prayer ! 
With hearts too full to speak their bliss, 

God's creatures silent are. 

They silent are ; but not the less, 

In this most tranquil hour 
Of deep unbroken dreaminess, 

They own that Love and Power 
Which, like the softest sunshine, rests 

On every leaf and flower. 

How silent are the song-filled nests 
That crowd this drowsy tree I 

How mute is every feathered breast 
That swelled with melody ! 

And yet bright, bead-like eyes declare 
This hour is ecstasy. 

Heart forth ! as uncaged bird through air, 

And mingle in the tide 
Of blessed things, that, lacking care, 

Now full of beauty glide 
Around thee, in their angel hues 

Of joy and sinless pride. 

Here, on this green bank that o'erviews 
The far-retreating glen, 



A SABBATH SUMMER NOON. V 

Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse 

On all within thy ken ; 
For lovelier scene shall never break 

On thy dimmed sight again. 

Slow stealing through the tangled brake 

That skirts the distant hill, 
With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make 

For yonder lapsing rill ; 
Meek children of the forest gloom, 

Drink on, and fear no ill ! 

I bend me towards the tiny flower, 

That underneath this tree 
Opens its little breast of sweets 

In meekest modesty. 
And breathes the eloquence of love, 

In muteness. Lord ! to thee. 

Far down the glen in distance gleams 

The hamlet's tapering spire. 
And glittering in meridial beams. 

Its vane is tongued with fire ; 
And hark how sweet its silvery bell, 

And hark the rustic choir ! 

The holy sounds float up the dell 

To fill my ravished ear. 
And now the glorious anthems swell 

Of worshippers sincere, — 



10 NATURE. 

Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed 
Faith's penitential tear. 

Dear Lord I thy shadow is forth spread 

On all mine eye can see ; 
And, filled at the pure fountain-head 

Of deepest piety. 
My heart loves all created things, 

And travels home to thee. 

Around me while the sunshine flings 

A flood of mocky gold. 
My chastened spirit once more sings, 

As it was wont of old, 
That lay of gratitude which burst 

From yomig heart uncontrolled, 

When, in the midst of nature nursed. 

Sweet influences fell 
On childly hearts that were athirst. 

Like soft dews in the bell 
Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads. 

And breathed a fresher smell. 

So, even now this hour hath sped 
Li rapturous thought o'er me. 

Feeling myself with nature wed, — 
A holy mystery, — 

A part of earth, a part of heaven, 
A part, great God I of thee. 



THE USE OF FLOWERS. 11 



THE USE OF FLOWEKS. 

MARY HO^WITT. 

God might have made the earth bring forth 

Enough for great and small, 
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, 

Without a flower at all. 

We might have had enough, enough 

For every want of ours. 
For luxury, medicine, and toil. 

And yet have had no flowers. 

The ore within the mountain mine 

E-equireth none to grow ; 
Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 

To make the river flow. 

The clouds might give abundant rain, 

The nightly dews might fall. 
And the herb that keepeth life in man. 

Might yet have drunk them all. 

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made. 

All dyed with rainbow light, 
All fashioned with supremest grace 

Upspringing day and night, — 



12 NATURE. 

Springing in valleys green and low, 
And on the mountains high, 

And in the silent wilderness 
Where no man passes by ? 

Our outward life requires them not ; 

Then wherefore had they bu-th ? — 
To minister delight to man. 

To beautify the earth. 

To comfort man, — to whisper hope 
Whene'er his faith is dim ; 

For who so careth for the flowers 
Will much more care for him ! 



THE WOODLAND SANCTUAKT. 

F. D. HUNTINGTON. 

O Thou, that once on Horeb stood 
Revealed within the burning tree. 
To-day, as well, in each green wood. 

Be seen by hearts that yearn for thee. 
Each shining leaf is bright with God, 
Each bough a prophet's " budding rod," 
Each by thy flaming sun illumed. 
Yet each, like Horeb's, unconsumed. 



SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. 13 

O Thou, whose hand poured Jordan's stream, 
Whose angel-dove hung o'er its wave. 

To hallow with a heavenly gleam 

The Son whose love a world Avould save ! 

Bring from the waters at our side 

Some whisper, gentle as their tide. 

Saying, like Christ on Galilee, — 

That holier lake, — Peace, peace to thee ! 

We pray, O Lord, who touched the mount, — 
We pray through Him who stilled the sea, — 

May every outward sight a fount 
Of inward life and courage be. 

The radiant bush, the white-winged dove. 

The fire of faith, the peace of love, 

Uplift our souls, and urge them on 

To take the cross, to wear the crown. 



SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. 



ANDREWS NORTON. 



•The rain is o'er. How dense and bright 
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie, — 

Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight, 
Contrasting with the dark blue sky ! 



14 NATURE. 

In grateful silence, earth receives 

The general blessing ; fresh and fair, 

Each flower expands its little leaves, 
As glad the common joy to share. 

The softened sunbeams pour around 

A fairy light, uncertain, pale ; 
The wind flows cool ; the scented ground 

Is breathing odors on the gale. 

'Mid yon rich cloud's voluptuous pile, 
Methinks some spirit of the air 

Might rest, to gaze below awhile. 
Then turn to bathe and revel there. 

The sun breaks forth ; from off" the scene 
Its floating veil of mist is flung ; 

And all the wilderness of green 

"With trembling drops of light is hung. 

Now gaze on Nature, — yet the same. 
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned. 

Luxuriant, lovely, as she came. 

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. 

Hear the rich music of that voice 

Which sounds from all below, above 

She calls her children to rejoice. 

And round them throws her arms of love. 



THE pastor's prayer AT SUNSET. 15 

Drink in her influence ; low-born care, 

And all the train of mean desire, 
Refuse to breathe this holy ak, 

And 'mid this living light expire. 



THE PASTOR'S PRAYER AT SUNSET. 

FROM "the excursion." — WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

"Eternal Spirit! universal God! 
Power inaccessible to human thought, 
Save by degrees and steps which Thou hast 

deigned 
To furnish ; for this effluence of thyself. 
To the infirmity of mortal sense 
Vouchsafed, — this local transitory type 
Of thy paternal splendors, and the pomp 
Of those who fill thy com'ts in highest heaven. 
The radiant Cherubim, — accept the thanks 
Which we, thy humble creatm-es, here con- 
vened, 
Presume to offer ; we, who, from the breast 
Of the frail earth permitted to behold 
The faint reflections only of thy face. 
Are yet exalted, and in soul adore ! 
Such as they are who in thy presence stand 



16 NATURE. 

Unsullied, incorruptible, and drink 
Imperishable majesty streamed forth 
From thy empyreal throne, the elect of earth 
Shall be, — divested at the appointed hour 
Of all dishonor, cleansed from mortal stain. 

— Accomplish, then, their number ; and conclude 
Time's weary com-se ! Or if, by thy decree, 
The consummation that will come by stealth 
Be yet far distant, let thy Word prevail, — 

Oh ! let thy Word prevail, to take away 
The sting of human nature. Spread the Law, 
As it is written in thy holy Book, 
Throughout all lands : let every nation hear 
The high behest, and every heart obey ; 
Both for the love of purity, and hope 
Which it affords, to such as do thy will 
And persevere in good, that they shall rise, 
To have a nearer view of Thee, in heaven. 

— Father of Good ! this prayer in bounty grant, 
In mercy grant it to thy wretched sons. 

Then, nor till then, shall persecution cease, 
And cruel wars expke. The way is marked. 
The Guide appointed, and the ransom paid. 
Alas I the nations who of yore received 
These tidings, and in Christian temples meet 
The sacred truth to acknowledge, linger still ; 
Preferring bonds and darkness to a state 
Of holy freedom, by redeeming love 
Proffered to all, while yet on earth detained. 



THE pastor's prayer AT SUNSET. 17 

" Once," and with mild demeanor, as he spake, 
On ns the venerable Pastor tm*ned 
His beaming eye that had been raised to HeaY- 

en,— 
" Once, while the name Jehovah was a sound 
Within the circuit of this sea-girt isle 
Unheard, the savage nations bowed the head 
To gods delighting in remorseless deeds ; 
jGods which themselves had fashioned, to pro- 
mote 
111 purposes, and flatter foul desires. 
Then, in the bosom of yon mountain cove 
To those inventions of corrupted man 
Mysterious rites were solemnized ; and there. 
Amid impending rocks and gloomy woods. 
Of those terrific Idols some received 
Such dismal service, that the loudest voice 
Of the swoln cataracts (which now are heard 
Soft murmuring) was too weak to overcome, 
Though aided by wild winds, the gi-oans and 

shrieks 
Of human victims, offered up to appease 
Or to propitiate. And, if living eyes 
Had visionary faculties to see 
The thing that hath been as the thing that is. 
Aghast we might behold this crystal Mere 
Bedimmed with smoke, in wreaths voluminous, 
Flung from the body of devouring fires. 
To Taranis erected on the heights 



18 NATURE. 

By priestly hands, for sacrifice performed 
Exulting] y, in view of open day 
And full assemblage of a barbarous host ; 
Or to Andates, female Power ! who gave 
(For so they fancied) glorious victory. 
— A few rude monuments of mountain stone 
Survive ; all else is swept away. — How bright 
The appearances of things I From such, how 
changed • 

The existing worship ; and with those compared, 
The worshippers how innocent and blest I 
So \^dde the difference, a willing mind. 
At this affecting hour, might almost think 
That Paradise, the lost abode of man, 
"Was raised again ; and to a happy few, 
Li its original beauty, here restored. 

"Whence but from Thee, the true and on!}' God, 
And from the faith derived through Him who bled 
Upon the Cross, this marvellous advance 
Of good from evil ? as if one extreme 
"Were left, the other gained. — O ye, who come 
To kneel devoutly in yon reverend Pile, 
Called to such office by the peaceful sound 
Of Sabbath bells ; and ye, who sleep in earth, 
All cares forgotten, round its hallowed walls ! 
For you, in presence of this little band 
Gathered together on the green hill-side. 
Your Pastor is emboldened to prefer 



19 



Vocal thanksgivings to the Eternal King ; 
Whose love, whose counsel, whose commands, 

have made 
Your very poorest rich in peace of thought 
And in good works ; and him who is endowed 
With scantiest knowledge, master of all truth 
W^hich the salvation of his soul requires. 
Conscious of that abundant favor showered 
On you, the children of my humble care, 
And this dear land, our country while on earth 
We sojourn, have I lifted up my soul, 
Joy giving voice to fervent gratitude. 
These barren rocks, your stern inheritance ; 
These fertile fields, that recompense your pains ; 
The shado^\^ vale, the sunny mountain top ; 
Woods waving in the vniid their lofty heads. 
Or hushed ; the roaring waters, and the still ; — 
They see the offering of my lifted hands. 
They hear my lips present their sacrifice, 
They know if I be silent, mom or even : 
For, though in whispers speaking, the full heart 
Will find a vent ; and thought is praise to Him, 
Audible praise to Thee, Omniscient i\Iind, 
From whom all gifts descend, all blessings 

flow!" 



20 NATURE. 



EVENTIDE. 

WRITTEN IN THE COUNTRY. 
J. T. FIELDS. 

This cottage door, this gentle gale, 

Hay-scentecl, whispering round. 
Yon path-side rose, that down the vale 
Breathes incense from the ground, 

Methinks should from the dullest clod 
Invite a thankful heart to God. 

But, Lord, the violet, bending low. 

Seems better moved to praise ; 
From us, what scanty blessings flow, 
How voiceless close our days ! 

Father, forgive us, and the flowers 
Shall lead in prayer the vesper hours. 



THE EYEmNG HYIMN. 



THOMAS MILLER. 



How many days, with mute adieu, 
Have gone down yon untrodden sky ! 

And still it looks as clear and blue 
As when it first was hung on high. 



THE EVENING HYMN. 21 

The rolling sun, the frowning cloud 
That drew the lightning in its rear, 

The thunder, tramping deep and loud. 
Have left no footmark there. 

The village bells, with silver chime, 

Come softened by the distant shore ; 
Though I have heard them many a time, 

They never rung so sweet before. 
A silence rests upon the hill, 

A listening awe pervades the air ; 
The very flowers are shut, and still. 

And bowed as if in prayer. 

And in this hushed and breathless close, 

O'er earth, and air, and sky, and sea. 
That still low voice in silence goes. 

Which speaks alone, great God, of Thee. 
The whispering leaves, the far-off brook. 

The linnet's warble fainter grown. 
The hive-bound bee, the lonely rook, — 

All these their Maker own. 

Now shine the starry hosts of light. 
Gazing on earth with golden eyes ; 

Bright guardians of the blue-browed night. 
What are ye in your native skies ? 

I know not ! neither can I know. 
Nor on what leader ye attend, 



22 NATURE. 

Nor whence ye came, nor whither go, 
Nor what your aim, or end. 

I know they must be holy things. 

That from a room so sacred shine, 
Where sounds the beat of angel-wings, 

And footsteps echo all divine. 
Their mysteries I never sought, 

Nor hearkened to what science tells ; 
For, oh ! in childhood I was taught 

That God amidst them dwells. 

The darkening woods, the fading trees, 

The grasshopper's last feeble sound, 
The flower just wakened by the breeze, 

All leave the stillness more profound. 
The twilight takes a deeper shade, 

The dusky path-ways blacker grow, 
And silence reigns in glen and glade, — 

All, all is mute below. 

And other eves as sweet as this 

Will close upon as calm a day. 
And, sinking down the deep abyss, 

Will, like the last, be swept away ; 
Until Eternity is gained, 

That boundless sea without a shore, 
That without Time for ever reigned, 

And will when Time 's no more. 



EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY. 23 

Now nature sinks in soft repose, 

A living semblance of the grave ; 
The dew steals noiseless on the rose, 

The boughs have almost ceased to wave ; 
The silent sky, the sleeping earth. 

Tree, mountain stream, the humble sod, 
All tell from whom they had their birth, 

And cry, " Behold a God I" 



EVENING SONG OF THE WEAEY. 



MBS. HEMANS. 



Father of Heaven and Earth ! 

I bless thee for the night. 

The soft, still night ! 
The holy pause of care and mirth, 

Of sound and light ! 

Now far in glade and dell. 

Flower-cup, and bud, and bell 
Have shut around the sleeping woodlark's nest; 

The bee's long murmuring toils are done. 

And I, the o'erwearied one, 

O'erwearied and o'erwrought, 
Bless thee, O God, O Father of the oppressed, 

With my last waking thought, 
In the still night ! 



24 NATURE. 

Yes, ere I sink to rest, 
By the fire's dying light. 
Thou Lord of Earth and Heaven I 
I bless thee, who hast given 
Unto life's fainting travellers the night, — 
The soft, still, holy night! 



THE RISING MOON. 

W. B. O. PEABODY. 

The moon is up ! how calm and slow 
She wheels above the hill ! 

The weary winds forget to blow, 
And all the world lies still. 

The way-worn travellers with delight 

Her rising brightness see. 
Revealing all the paths and plains, 

And gilding every tree. 

It glistens where the hurrying stream 

Its little rippling heaves ; 
It falls upon the forest-shade, 

And sparkles on the leaves. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 25 

So once on Judah's evening hills 

The heavenly lustre spread ; 
The Gospel sounded from the blaze, 

And shepherds gazed with dread. 

And still that light upon the world 

Its guiding splendor throws, 
Bright in the opening hours of life, 

And brighter at its close. 

The waning moon in time shall fail 

To walk the midnight skies ; 
But God hath kindled this bright light 

With fire that never dies. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 



Vr. H. FUKXESS. 



Slowly, by God's hand unfurled, 
Down around the weary world 
Falls the darkness : O how stiU 
Is the working of His will I 

Mighty Spirit, ever nigh ! 
Work in me as silently ; 
Veil the day's distracting sights, 
Show me heaven's eternal lights. 

3 



26 NATURE. 

Living stars to view be brought, 
In the boundless realms of thought ; 
High and infinite desires. 
Flaming lilve those upper fires ! 

Holy Truth, eternal Right, — 
Let them break upon my sight ; 
Let them shine serene and still. 
And with light my being fill. 



THE rNFINITy OF SPACE. 



JOHN STERLIKG. 



When up to nightly skies we gaze, 
Where stars pursue then endless ways, 
We think we see ftom earth's low clod 
The wide and shining home of God. 

But could we rise to moon or sun. 
Or path where planets duly run. 
Still heaven would spread above us far, 
And earth remote would seem a star. 

'T is vain to dream those tracts of space 
With all their worlds approach His face ; 
One glory fills each wheeling ball, — 
One love has shaped and moved them all. 



THE INFINITY OF SPACE. 27 

This earth, with all its dust and tears, 
Is His no less than yonder spheres ; 
And rain-drops weak, and grains of sand 
Are stamped by His immediate hand. 

The rock, the wave, the little flower, 
All fed by streams of living power, 
That spring from one Almighty will, 
Whate'er His thought conceives, fulfil. 

And is this all that man can claim ? 
Is this our longing's final aim ? 
To be like all things round, — no more 
Than pebbles cast on Time's gray shore? 

Can man, no more than beast, aspire 
To know his being's awful Sire ? 
And, born and lost on Nature's breast, 
No blessing seek but there to rest ? 

Not this our doom, thou God benign ! 
Whose rays on us unclouded shine : 
Thy breath sustains yon fiery dome ; 
But man is most thy favored home. 

We view those haEs of painted air, 
And own Thy presence makes them fair; 
But dearer still to thee, O Lord ! 
Is he whose thoughts to thine accord. 



28 NATURE. 



MELODIES AND MYSTERIES. 

CHAKLES MACKAY. 

WouLDST thou know what the blithe bird pipeth 

High in the morning air ? 
Wouldst thou know what the blithe stream sing- 
eth, 

Rippling o'er pebbles bare ? 
Sorrow the mystery shall teach thee 

And the words declare. 

Wouldst thou find in the rose's blossom 

More than thy fellows find ? 
More in the fragrance of the lily 

Than odor on the wind ? 
Love Nature, and her smallest atoms 

Shall whisper to thy mind. 

"Wouldst thou know what the moon discourseth 

To the docile sea ? 
Wouldst hear the echoes of the music 

Of the far infinity ! 
Sorrow shall ope the founts of knowledge, 

And heaven shall sing to thee. 

Wouldst thou see through the riddle of Being 
Further than others can ? 



CORRESPONDENCES. 29 

Sorrow shall give thine eyes new lustre 

To simplify the plan ; 
And love of God and thy kind shall aid thee 

To end what it began. 

To Love and Sorrow all Nature speaketh ; 

If the riddle be read, 
They the best can see through darkness 

Each divergent tread 
Of its mazy texture, and discover 

Whence the ravel spread. 

Love and Sorrow are sympathetic 

With the earth and skies ; 
Their touch from the harp of Nature bringeth 

The hidden melodies ; 
To them the eternal chords for ever 

Vibrate in harmonies. 



COEHESPONDENCES. 



C. p. CRANCH. 



All things in Nature are beautiful types to the 

soul that will read them ; 
Nothing exists upon earth, but for unspeakable 

ends. 

3* 



30 NATURE. 

Every object that speaks to the senses was meant 
for the spirit : 

Nature is but a scroll, — God's handwriting 
thereon. 

^ges ago, when man was pure, ere the flood 
overwhelmed him, 

While in the image of God every soul yet 
lived, 

Everything stood as a letter or word of a lan- 
guage familiar, 

Telling of truths which noio only the angels can 
read. 

Lost to man was the key of those sacred hiero- 
glyphics, — 

Stolen away by sin, — till vntYv Jesus restored. 

Now with infinite pains we here and there spell 
out a letter ; 

Now and then will the sense feebly shine through 
the dark. 

When we perceive the light which breaks through 
the visible symbol. 

What exultation is ours ! ice the discovery have 
made ! 

Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam 
lived sinless in Eden, 

Only long-hidden it slept, and now again is re- 
stored. 

Man unconsciously uses figures of speech every 
moment, 



CORRESPONDENCES. 31 

Little dreaming the cause why to such terms 

he is prone, — 
Little dreaming that everything has its own cor- 
respondence 
Folded within it of old, as in the body the 

soul. 
Gleams of the mystery fall on us still, though 

much is forgotten, 
And through our commonest speech illumines 

the path of our thoughts. 
Thus does the lordly sun shine out a type of the 

Godhead ; 
Wisdom and Love the beams that shine on a 

darkened world. 
Thus do the sparkling waters flow, giving joy to 

the desert. 
And the great Fountain of Life opens itself to 

the thirst. 
Thus does the word of God distil like the rain 

and the dew-drops. 
Thus does the warm wind breathe like to the 

Spirit of God, 
And the green grass and the flowers are signs of 

the regeneration. 

O thou Spirit of Truth ! visit our minds once 
more ! 
Give us to read, in letters of light, the language 
celestial, 



32 NATURE. 

Written all over the earth, — written all over 
the sky ; 

Thus may we bring our hearts at length to know 
our Creator, 

Seeing in all things around types of the Infi- 
nite Mind. 



NIAGARA. 



JOHN G. C. BRAINARD. 



The thoughts are strange that crowd into my 

brain 
While I look upward to thee ! It would seem 
As if God poured thee from his hollow hand. 
And hung his bow upon thine awful front, 
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to 

him 
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, 
" The sound of many waters," and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, 
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks. 

Deep calleth unto deep, — and what are we 
That hear the question of that voice sublime ? 
O, what are all the notes that ever rung 



THE BACKWOODSMAN. 33 

From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ? 
Yea, what is all the riot man can make, 
In his short life, to thine unceasing roar ? 
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him 
Who di'owned the world, and heaped the waters 

far 
Above its loftiest mountains ? A light wave, 
That breaks and whispers of his Maker's might ! 



THE BACKWOODSMAN. 

EPHEAIM PEABODT. 

The silent wilderness for me ! 

Where never sound is heard, 
Save the rustling of the squirrel's. foot 

And the flitting wing of bird, 
Or its low and interrupted note. 

And the deer's quick, crackling tread. 
And the swaying of the forest boughs. 

As the wind moves overhead. 

Alone, — how glorious to be free ! — 

My good dog at my side. 
My rifle hanging on my arm, 

I range the forests wide. 



34 NATURE. 

And now the regal buffalo 

Across the plains I chase ; 
Now track the mountain stream, to find 

The beaver's lurking-place. 

I stand upon the mountain's top. 

And — solitude profound I — 
Not even a woodman's smoke curls up 

Within the horizon's bound. 
Below, as o'er its ocean breadth 

The air's light currents run, 
The wilderness of moving leaves 

Is glancing in the sun. 

I look around to where the sky- 
Meets the far forest line, 

And this imperial domain. 
This kingdom, all is mine ! 

This bending heaven, these floating clouds, 
"Waters that ever roll. 

And wilderness of glory, bring 
Their offerings to my soul. 

My palace, built by God's own hand, 
The world's fresh prime hath seen ; 

Wide stretch its living halls away. 
Pillared and roofed with green. 

My music is the wind that now 
Pours loud its swelling bars, 



LINES WRITTEN AT TOCCOA FALLS. 35 

Now lulls in dying cadences ; 
My festal lamps are stars. 

Though when, in this my lonely home, 

My star-watched couch I press, 
I hear no fond " Good night ! " think not 

I am companionless. 
O no ! I see my father's house, 

The hill, the tree, the stream, 
And the looks' and voices of my home 

Come gently to my dream. 

And in the solitary haunts, 

While slumbers every tree. 
In night and silence, God himself 

Seems nearer unto me. 
Ifeel his presence in the shades. 

Like the embracing air ; 
And as my eyelids close in sleep, 

My heart is hushed in prayer. 



LINES WRITTEN AT TOCCOA FALLS, GEORGIA. 

S. G. BULFINCH. 

Loveliest and most sublime ! 
Flashing in virgin whiteness from the skies ! 
Here may the traveller fix his raptured eyes. 

Nor heed quick-passing time. 



36 NATURE. 

Through thy transparent veil, 
And wide around thee. Nature's grandest forms, 
Rocks, built for ages to abide the storms, 

Frown on the subject dale. 

Fed by thy rapid stream, 
In every crevice of that savage pile 
The living herbs in quiet beauty smile, 

Lit by the sunny gleam. 

And over all, that gush 
Of rain-drops, brightly sparkling in the smi ! 
While ages round thee on their course have run, 

Forever on they rush. 

I would not that the bow 
With gorgeous hues should light thy virgin 

stream ; 
Better thy white and sunlit foam should gleam 

Thus, like pure mountain snow. 



Around, for centuries, rise, decay, and die. 
While thou hast poured thine endless current by 
To join the eternal floods. 

The ages pass away ; 
Successive nations rise and are forgot. 
But on thy brilliant course thou pausest not, — 

Thy changing, changeless play. 



TONGUES. 37 

When I have sunk to rest, 
Thus wilt thou pass, in cahn sublimity. 
Then be thy voice to others, as to me, 

To the deep soul addressed. 

Here does a spirit dwell 
Of gratitude and contemplation high, 
Holding deep union with eternity. 

O loveliest scene, farewell I 



TONGUES. 

A. D. T. W. 

" And every man heard them in his own language." 

Earth speaks to us ! Her seasons, as they roll, 

Give noble utterings. 
And inward bear sweet influence o'er the soul, — 

Summers and springs ! 

Life hath its lessons, — fervent love, and losing, 

Rapture and pain. 
Writ on the leaf that turns not at our choosing, 

Nor turns in vain. 

And every earnest spirit finds a tongue, 
A mystic tone 

4 



38 



NATURE. 



Out on an air of mingled echoes flung, 
Seeking its own. 

God speaketh ! He hath left beyond the sky 

- His awful crown, 
And, wearing lesser robes of majesty, 
To earth comes down. 

Take heed how ye shall hear, — in gratitude. 

Coldness, or scorn, — 
Since to each soul that tongue is understood, 

"Wherein 't is born. 

Art thou alive to things of sense alone ? 

Then shalt thou hear. 
Naught else, though heaven and earth their 
thunder tone 

Shout in thine ear. 

Dost reverent wait and listen for the teaching 

From all things given? 
Then doth thine attitude of pm'e beseeching 

Lift thee to heaven ! 

A voice shall one day utter weal or woe 

To souls of men, 
And " each in his own language," learned below, 

Must hear it then ! 



THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 39 



THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 

AGNES STRICKLAND. 

Fair lilies of Jerusalem, 

Ye wear the same array 
As when imperial Judah's stem 

Maintained its regal sway. 

By sacred Jordan's desert tide 

As bright ye blossom on - 
As when your simple charms outvied 

The pride of Solomon. 

Ye flourished when the captive band, 
By prophets warned in vain. 

Were led to far Euphrates' strand, 
From Jordan's pleasant plain. 

In hostile lands to weep and dream 
Of things that still were free, 

And sigh to see your golden gleam. 
Sweet flowers of Galilee ! 

Ye have survived Judaea's throne. 

Her temple's overthrow. 
And seen proud Salem sitting lone, 

A widow in her woe. 



40 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 

But, lilies of Jerusalem, 

Through every change ye shine ; 
Your golden urns unfading gem 

The fields of Palestine. 



PAUT II. 

REVELATION: THE OLD TESTAMENT. 



THE BIBLE. 



BERJ^ARD BARTON. 



Lamp of our feet ! whereby we trace 
Our path, when wont to stray ; 

Stream from the fount of heavenly grace ! 
Brook by the traveller's way ! 

Bread of our souls I whereon we feed ; 

True manna from on high ! 
Our guide and chart ! wherein we read 

Of realms beyond the sky. 

Pillar of fire, through watches dark ! 

Of radiant cloud, by day ! 
When waves would whelm our tossing bark, 

Our anchor and our stay ! 

4# 



42 REVELATION. 

Pole-star on life's tempestuous deep ! 

Beacon ! when doubts surround ; 
Compass ! by which our course we keep ; 

Our deep-sea lead, to sound I 

Riches in poverty ! our aid 

In every needful hour ! 
Unshaken rock ! the pilgrim's shade, 

The soldier's fortress tower! 

Our shield and buckler in the fight ! 

Victory's triumphant palm ! 
Comfort in grief ! in weakness, might ! 

In sickness, Gilead's balm ! 

Childhood's preceptor ! manhood's trust ! 

Old age's firm ally ! 
Our hope — when w^e go down to dust — 

Of immortality ! 

Pure oracles of Truth Divine ! 

Unlike each fabled dream 
Given forth from Delphos' mystic shrine, 

Or groves of Academe ! 

Word of the Ever-living God ! 

Will of his glorious Son ! 
Without thee how could earth be trod ? 

Or heaven itself be won ? 



PLEDGES OF MERCY. 43 

Yet to unfold thy hidden worth, 

Thy mysteries to reveal, 
That Spirit which first gave thee forth 

Thy volume must unseal ! 

And we, if we aright would learn 

The wisdom it imparts. 
Must to its heavenly teachings turn 

With simple, child-like hearts ! 



PLEDGES OF MERCY. 



JOHN KEBLE. — CHRISTIAN YEAK. 



" I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a 
covenant between me and the earth." — Gen. ix. 13. 



Sweet Dove I the softest, steadiest plume 

In all the sun-bright sky. 
Brightening in ever-changeful bloom, 

As breezes change on high ; — 

Sweet Leaf ! the pledge of peace and mirth, 
" Long sought and lately won," 

Blest increase of reviving earth. 
When first it felt the sun : — 



44 



REVELATION. 



Sweet Rainbow ! pride of summer days, 
High set at Heaven's command, 

Though into drear and dusky haze 
Thou melt on either hand ; — 

Dear tokens of a pardoning God, 

We hail ye, one and all, 
As when our fathers walked abroad, 

Freed from their twelvemonth's thrall. 

How joyful from the imprisoning ark 
On the green earth they spring ! 

Not blither, after showers, the lark 
Mounts up with glistening wing. 

So home-bound sailors spring to shore, 

Two oceans safely past ; 
So happy souls, when life is o'er, 

Plunge in the empyreal vast. 

What wins their first and fondest gaze 

In all the blissful field. 
And keeps it through a thousand days ? 

Love, face to face revealed; — 

Love, imaged in that cordial look 

Our Lord in Eden bends 
On souls that sin and earth forsook 

In time to die his friends. 



PLEDGES OF MERCY. 45 

And what most welcome and serene 

Dawns on the Patriarch's eye 
In all the emerging hills so green, 

In all the brightening sky ? 

What but the gentle rainbow's gleam, 

Soothing the wearied sight 
That cannot bear the solar beam, 

With soft undazzling light ? 

Lord, if our fathers turned to thee 

With such adoring gaze, 
Wondering frail man thy light should see 

Without thy scorching blaze, — 

Where is our love, and where our hearts. 

We who have seen thy Son, 
Have tried thy Spirit's winning arts, 

And yet we are not won ? 

The Son of God in radiance beamed 

Too bright for us to scan. 
But we may face the rays that streamed 

From the mild Son of Man. 

There, parted into rainbow hues, 

In sweet, harmonious strife. 
We see celestial love diffuse 

Its light o'er Jesus' life. 



46 REVELATION. 

God, by his bow, vouchsafes to write 
This truth in heaven above ; 

As every lovely hue is light, 
So every grace is love. 



AXGELIC VISITANTS. 



CHAELES MACKAY. 



On Mamre's plain, beside the Patriarch's door 
The ministering angels sat ; — the world was 
young. 
And men beheld what they behold no more. 
Ah no I the harps of heaven are not un- 
strung! 
The angelic visitants may yet appear 

To those who seek them ! Lo I at Virtue's 

side. 
Its friend, its prop, its solace, and its guide. 
Walks Faith, with upturned eyes and voice of 

cheer, 
A visible angel. Lo, at Soitow's call, 

Hope hastens down, an angel fair and kind, 
And whispers comfort whatsoe'er befall ; 

While Charity, the seraph of the mind, 
White-robed and pure, becomes each good man's 

guest. 
And makes this earth a heaven to all who love 
her best. 



SONG OF THE MANNA-GATHERERS. 47 



SONG OF TPIE MANNA-GATHERERS. 

KEBLE. — LYRA IXNOCEXTIUM. 

" This is the bread -which the Lord hath given -you to eat." 

Comrades, haste ! the tent's tall shading 

Lies along the level sand 
Far and faint : the stars are fading 

O'er the gleaming western strand. 
Airs of morning 

Freshen the bleak, burning land. 

Haste, or ere the third hour glowing 
With its eager thirst prevail 

O'er the moist pearls, now bestrowing 
Thymy slope and rushy vale, — 

Dews celestial. 
Left when earthly dews exhale. 

Ere the bright good hour be wasted, 
Glean, not ravening, nor in sloth : 

To your tent bring all untasted ; — 
To thy father, nothing loth, 

Bring thy treasure : 
Trust thy God, and keep thy troth. 

Trust him : care not for the morrow ; 
Should thine omer overflow, 



48 REVELATION. 

And some poorer seek to borrow, 
Be thy gift nor scant nor slow. 

Wouldst thou store it ? 
Ope thine hand and let it go. 

Trust his daily work of wonder, 
Wrought in all his people's sight : 

Think on yon high place of thunder, 
Think upon the unearthly Ught 

Brought from Sinai, 
When the prophet's face grew bright. 

Think, the glory yet is nigh thee. 
Power unfelt arrests thine arm. 

Love aye watching to deny thee 
Stores abounding to thy harm. 

Rich and needy 
All are levelled by love's charm. 

Sing we thus our songs of labor 
At our harvest in the wild, 

For our God and for our neighbor, 
Till six times the morn have smiled, 

And our vessels 
Are with twofold treasure piled. 

For that one, that heavenly morrow, 
We may care and toil to-day : 

Other thrift is loss and sorrow, 
Savings are but thrown away. 



SONG OF THE MANNA-GATHERERS. 49 

Hoarded manna ! — 
Moths and worms shall on it prey. 

While the faithless and unstable 
Mars with work the season blest, 

"We around thy heaven-sent table 
Praise thee, Lord, with all our best. 

Signs prophetic 
Fill our week, both toil and rest. 

Comrades, what our sires have told us, — 
Watch and wait, for it will come ; 

Smiling vale shall soon enfold us 
In a new and vernal home : 

Earth will feed us 
From her own benignant womb. 

We beside the wondrous river 
In the appointed hour shall stand. 

Following, as from Egypt ever. 

The bright cloud and outstretched hand : 

In thy shadow 
We shall rest, on Abraham's land. 

Not by manna-showers at morning 
Shall our board be then supplied, 

But a strange pale gold, adorning 
Many a tufted mountain-side. 

Yearly feed us. 
Year by year our murmurings chide. 

5 



50 REVELATION. 

There, no prophet's touch awaiting, 
From each cool, deep cavern start 

Rills, that since their first creating 
Ne'er have ceased to sing their part. 

Oft we hear them 
In our dreams, with thirsty heart. 

O, when travel-toils are over. 

When above our tranquil nest 
All our guardian angels hover, 

Will our hearts be quite at rest ? 
Nay, fair Canaan 

Is not heavenly Mercy's best. 

Know ye not, our glorious Leader 

Salem may but see, and die ? 
Israel's guide and nurse and feeder 

Israel's hope from far must eye, 
Then, departing. 

Find a.worthier throne on high. 

Dimly shall fond fancy trace him. 

Dim, though sweet, her dreams shall prove, 
Wondering what high powers embrace him, 
• Where in light he walks above. 
Where, in silence 
Sleeping, hallows heath or grove. 

Deeps of blessing are before us : 
Only, while the desert sky 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 51 

And the sheltering cloud hang o'er us, 
Morn by morn, obediently. 

Glean we manna, 
And the song of Moses try. 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. 

" And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against 
Bethpeor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." — 
Deut. xxxiv. 6. 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave. 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave, 
And no man dug that sepulchre. 

And no man saw it e'er ; 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth, 
But no man heard the trampling, 

Or saw that train go forth. 



52 REVELATION. 

Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 
Grows into the great sun ; 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves : 
So, without sound of music. 

Or voice of them that wept. 
Silently down, from the mountain's crown, 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle, 

On gray Bethpeor's height. 
Out of his rocky eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight ; 
Perchance the lion stalking 

Still shuns that hallowed spot : 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth. 

His comrades in the war. 
With arms reversed and muffled drum, 

Follow the funeral car. 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 53 

And after him lead his masterless steed, 
While peals the minute gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay the sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place, 

With costly marble drest. 
In the great minster transept, 

Where lights like glories fall, 
And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen 
On the deathless page truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor ? 

The hill-side for his pall. 
To lie in state while angels wait 

With stars for tapers tall. 
And the dark rock pines like tossing plumes 

Over his bier to wave, 
And God's own hand in that lonely land 

To lay him in the grave. 

5# 



54 



REVELATION. 

In that deep grave without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again, most wondrous thought! 

Before the Judgment Bay, 
And stand with glory wrapped around 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our life 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! 

O dark Bethpeor's hill! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours. 

And teach them to be still. 
God hath his mysteries of grace. 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved so well. 



RUTH. 



A. A. WATTS. 



Entreat me not to leave thee so, 
Or turn from following thee ; 

Where'er thou goest I will go, 
Thy home my home shall be ! 



naaman's servant. 55 

The path thou treadest, — hear my vow, — 

By me shall still be trod ; 
Thy people be my people now ; 

Thy God shall be my God I 

Reft of all else, to thee I cleave. 

Content if thou art nigh '^ 
Whene'er thou grievest, I will grieve, 

And where thou diest, die ! 

And may the Lord, whose hand hath wrought 

This weight of misery. 
Afflict me so, and more, if aught 

But death part thee and me ! 



NAAMAN'S SERVANT. 

KEBLE. — LYKA INNOCEXTIUM. 

" Who hath despised the day of small things ? " 

" Who for the like of me will care ? " 
So whispers many a mournful heart, 
When in the weary, languid air. 
For grief or scorn, we pine apart. 



56 REVELATION. 

So haply mused yon little maid, 

From Israel's breezy mountains borne, 

No more to rest in Sabbath shade, 
Watching the free and wavy corn. 

A captive now, and sold and bought, 
In the proud Syrian's hall she waits. 

Forgotten — such her moody thought — 
Even as the worm beneath the gates. 

But One who ne'er forgets is here : 
He hath a word for thee to speak : 

O serve him yet in duteous fear, 
And to thy Gentile lord be meek. 

So shall the healing Name be known 
By thee on many a heathen shore. 

And Naaraan on his chariot throne 
Wait humbly by Elisha's door, — 

By thee desponding lepers know 
The sacred waters' sevenfold might. 

Then wherefore sink in listless woe ? 

Christ's poor and needy! claim your right. 

Your heavenly right, to do and bear 
All for his sake ; nor yield one sigh 

To pining doubt ; nor ask, " What care 
In the wide world for such as I ? " 



THE LIBATION. 57 

THE LIBATION. 

H. "WARE, JB. — "feast OF TABERNACLES." 
HIGH-PRIEST. 

'T IS done. The praise is said. Another rite 
Succeeds. Bring forth the sacred golden bowl ; 
And let the appointed priest convey it down 
To Siloa's hallowed fountain. Let him draw 
The sparkling waters ; and with cautious step, 
In glad procession, bring them up the mount. 
And bear them to the altar of the Lord. 
Attend him, ye that will ; and, ye that will. 
Abide, till with loud trump, and echoing shout, 
And waving palms, the absent throng return. 

WOMEN. 

They go ; they pass the gates ; the sacred courts 
They leave ; their distant tread dies on the ear. 
Wait not in silence for their slow return ; 
But wake the echoes of the Holy Place 
"With song, and warble forth the coming rite. 

soxG (woman). 

Flow on, flow on, thou bright, clear stream ! 

Flow on, thou fair, perpetual fount ! 
Transparent as the sun's warm beam, 

Bathe the stern foot of Judah's mount. 



58 REVELATION. 

The sun above, thy waves below, 
Unsullied shines, unsullied flow ; 
Thou as the crystal heavens art pure. 
And like the heavens thou shalt endure. 

The Temple crowns Moriah's height, 

Thy waters miirmur at its base ; 
That seems Jehovah's throne of light. 
Thou his exhaustless fount of grace. 
And when the emblems we would join 
Of holy Love and Power divine. 
We draw thy waters from their bed. 
And pour them on the mountain's head. 

( Trumpet.') 



They come, they come ! their signal notes re- 
sound ; 

Their steps approach ; their gladdening songs 
draw near. 

PEOPLE (^returning). 

Hosanna! hosannal we bring the libation. 

The waters that flow from the fount of salvation. 

HIGH-PRIEST. 

Now let the sacred element be borne 

To the high altar's top ; there, with the wine 

Already hallowed for the sacrifice, 



. THE LIBATION. 59 

Let it be mingled. With a reverent hand 
Then pour the mixture out ; while, flinging high 
Their verdant palms, with solemn shout and song, 
The people dance around their glorious shrine. 



Hosanna I hosanna ! pour out the libation ! 

Glory and beauty, O altar, to thee! 
With gladness we draw from the wells of salva- 
tion 

Waters of life, ever flowing and free. 

Joy to thee, joy to thee, life-giving river! 

Glory and beauty, O altar, to thee ! 
The streams of salvation roll onward for ever, — 

Life to the universe, boundless and free. 

HIGH-PRIEST. 

Now tell your children what this rite intends ; 
What mean these glowing forms, these words of 

joy- 

PRIEST. 

The prophet gave the blow ; 
Forth gushed the cool, refreshing wave. 
The parched and perishing to save, 

Far as its waters flow. 
Recalled to life, the dying band 
Pressed eager to the destined land. 



60 



REVELATION. 

So, in some latter day, 
When Israel lies in woe and fear. 
Her great Anointed shall appear. 

To chase her dark dismay. 
From Him a holier stream shall flow, 
To save the world from darker woe. 

O, haste the glorious hour I 
Haste, David's Son, illustrious King! 
Come to thy waiting saints, and bring 

Thy glory, peace, and power. 
Hosanna I let the people cry ; 
Hosanna ! earth and heaven reply. 



PAUT III. 

THE GOSPEL, 



A CHRISTMAS HYIMN. 



ALFRED D03IETT. 



It was the calm and silent night ! 

Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
Had Rome been growing up to might, 

And now was queen of land and sea ! 
No sound was heard of clashing wars, 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ; 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars 

Held undisturbed their ancient reign, 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago ! 

'T was in the calm and silent night I 
The senator of haughty Rome 

Impatient urged his chariot's flight, 
From lordly revel rolling home. 



62 THE GOSPEL. 

Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell 

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway ; 
What recked the Roman what befell 
A paltry province far away, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor; 
A streak of light before him lay, 

Fallen through a half-shut stable-door 
Across his path. He paused, for naught 

Told what was going on within ; 
How keen the stars, his only thought ; 

The air how calm, and cold, and thin, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centm'ies ago ! 

O strange indifference ! — low and high 

Drowsed over common joys and cares ; 
The earth was still, but knew not why ; 

The world was listening — unawares ! 
How calm a moment may precede 

One that shall thrill the world for ever ! 
To that still moment none would heed, 

Man's doom was linked, no more to sever. 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ! 



THE CHRISTMAS BELL. 63 

It is the calm and solemn night ! 

A thousand bells ring out, and throw 
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 

The darkness, charmed and holy now ! 
The night that erst no shame had worn, 

To it a happy name is given ; 
For in that stable lay, new-born, 

The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, 
In the solemn midnight. 
Centuries ago I 



THE CHRISTMAS BELL. 

ROBERT P. ROGERS. 

Long ages it hath been ringing 
Since the angels sang by night, 

And the star bent over the manger 
With its benison of light. 

I hear the stream of its music 
Flow down the distance past, 

A lullaby breathed to the present, 
A requiem to the past. 

It comes on the air of winter. 
And the air is filled with snow. 

So that the sound is deadened 
Till the music is deep and low. 



64 THE GOSPEL. 

But every ear that will listen 
May catch its wavering tone 

And every heart find a meaning 
Meant for itself alone. 

To some it comes as a warning 

Of trial's turbulent tide, 
That will strengthen the feeble spirit, 

Or humble its erring pride. 

While to many, the young and happy 
"Who have little pain to bear, 

It peals like the bells of a bridal 
That play with the summer air. 

And to others, the pale and weary 
Who have garnered their sheaves, 

It flows with a heavenly summons. 
Like the dropping of autumn leaves. 

To the wretched, the sorely tempted, 
To the bowed, subdued by sorrow, 

It comes with the voice of blessing. 
And whispers hope for the morrow. 

But to all of us wandering pilgrims 
O may these varied chimes 

Ring as a beautiful prelude 
To another march of times, 



DANGER OF PRAISE. 65 

Bringing us sweet assurance 

Of the love of earthly friends, 
And the care of the dear departed, 

And the hope that heaven sends. 

And so will the angel music. 

This midnight dark and deep. 
As it floats around our pillows, 

Hush every care to sleep. 

And our dreams of untroubled slumber, 
Like shepherds, will watch on high 

The star of joy and of promise 
As it shone in Bethlehem's sky. 



DANGER OF PRAISE. 



LYRA IHKOCENTIUJM. 



" And he confessed and denied not ; but confessed, I am not the 
Christ." 

"When mortals praise thee, hide thine eyes, 

Nor in thy Master's wrong 
Take to thyself his crown and prize ; 

Yet more in heart than tongue. 

6* 



66 THE GOSPEL. 

None holier than the Desert priest 

Beneath the Law's dim sky, 
Yet in Heaven's kingdom with the least, 

We read, he might not vie. 

No member, yet, of Christ the Son, 

No Gospel prophet he ; 
Only a voice from out the throne 

Of dread yet blest decree. 

K he confessed, nor dared deny, 
Woe to that Christian's heart 

Who in man's praise would walk on high, 
And steal his Saviour's part ! 

And ah ! to him what tenfold woe, 

Who hides so well his sin. 
Through earth he seems a saint to go, 

Yet dies impure within ! 

Pray we our Lord, one pang to send 

Of deep, remorseful fear 
For every smile of partial friend ; — 

Praise be our penance here ! 



SONNET. 67 



SONNET. 

SACRED OFFERING. 

Matthew, Chapter iv. 

Upon the mountain's height he stood, — below, 
The kingdoms of the world around him spread 
Their glories to his view. The Tempter said, 
" Fall down and worship me ; I will bestow 
Upon thee all these things.'' " Hence ! thou shalt 
bow 
To God alone ! " replied the Holy One ; 
" Ulm only shalt thou serve. — Satan, begone ! " 
Awed by the voice divine, and threatening brow. 
The Tempter instant fled, and, borne on wing 
Of love, the ministering angels come 
In robes of light, and heaven's immortal bloom, 
Aid from above with gentle hands to bring ; 
And shall we tremble on our high career. 
When He who guarded Jesus stiU is near ? 



68 THE GOSPEL. 



CANA. 



J. F. CLARKE. 



Dear Friend ! whose presence in the house, 

Whose gracious word benign, 
Could once, at Cana's wedding feast, 



Change water into wine, — 



Come, visit us, and when dull work 
Grows weary, line on line, 

Revive our souls, and make us see 
Life's water glow as wine. 

Gay mirth shall deepen into joy, 
Earth's hopes shall grow divine, 

When Jesus visits us, to turn 
Life's water into wine. 

The social talk, the evening fire, 
The homely household shrine, 

Shall glow with angel visits when 
The Lord pours out the mne. 

For when self-seeking turns to love. 
Which knows not mine and thine, 

The miracle again is ^\Tought, 
And water changed to wine. 



SONNET. 69 



SONNET. 

SACRED OFFERING. 

Luke, Chapter iv. 

He stood within the Temple ; on his brow 

Sat heavenly wisdom, and his Father's love ; 
The holy book before him ; and below, 

The people round their gracious Saviour move ; 
The page, with great Isaiah's vision fraught. 

Then with a voice divine the Master read : 
" The spirit of the Lord is on me, — taught 

To preach the Gospel to the poor, and led 
By Him to heal the broken heart, to preach 

Deliverance to the captives, to the blind 
Restore their sight again ; and I must reach 

Aid to the braised ones, and their chains un- 
bind." 
O words of love and mercy ! still shall rest 
Thy spirit, Jesus, in thy follower's breast. 



70 THE GOSPEL. 



THE IMAGE OF THE EARTHY. 

T. H. GILL. 

O MEAN may seem this house of clay, 
Yet 't was the Lord's abode; 

Our feet may mourn this thorny way, 
Yet here Emmanuel trod. 

This fleshly robe the Lord did wear, 
This watch the Lord did keep, 

These burdens sore the Lord did bear, 
These tears the Lord did weep. 

This world the Master overcame, 
This death the Lord did die ; 

O vanquished world ! O glorious shame ! 
O hallowed agony ! 

O vale of tears, no longer sad. 
Wherein the Lord did dwell ! 

O holy robe of flesh, that clad 
Om* own Emmanuel I 

Our very frailty brings us near 

Unto the Lord of heaven ; 
To every grief, to every tear. 

Such glory strange is given. 



SONNET. 71 



SONNET 



SACKED OFFERING. 



Matthew, Chapter xi. 

" Come unto me," the heavenly Teacher said, 
" All ye with labor and with toil opprest, 
And I will give your wearied spirits rest ; 
And bear my yoke, and in my footsteps tread, 
For I am meek and lowly, and will lead 

Your souls to peace ; for gentle is my yoke. 
My burden light." O, not in vain were spoke. 
Saviour, thy words of mercy, still decreed 
To cheer my drooping soul, upon its way 

Through earthly scenes of trial, care, and strife ! 
Yes, I will come to thee ; thy words of life 
Shall calm each anxious thought, and chase away 
The hopes, the fears, the vain desires, that rise 
To lure my spirit from its kindred skies. 



72 THE GOSPEL. 



THE SAVIOUR IN THE THRONG OF 
HUMAN LIFE. 

BY JOHN STERLIKG. 

Amid the gay and noisy throng 

Around me fluttering, wheeling, shining, 
My ears are filled with shout and song; 

But yet my soul is still repining. 

In every face around I see 

Some heart-felt curse in silence working ; 
Each eye reflects my sins on me, 

And shows me all within me lurking. 

'Mid bounding joy and passion's glow, 
'Mid sportive bursts of mutual gladness, 

Thin shades arise from far below. 

Where boils a secret gulf of madness. 

A quivering cheek, a faltering glance, 

One throb, one sigh, the whole revealing ; 

In all the flashing, whirling dance, 
I see a world of shipwreck reeling. 

And while I fain would pause and think, 
Me too the tumult onward presses ; 

In vain I strive, in vain I shrink ; 

My breast the hour's vague fiend possesses. 



THE SAVIOUR IN THE THRONG. 73 

'Mid wreaths and gems, 'mid masks and crowns, 
'Mid brows austere, or smooth from sorrow, 

On all alike one ruin frowns. 

And bodes for all one fearful morrow. 

And 't is the worst despair to know, 
By pangs within my bosom aching, 

How deep in each the root of woe. 

How many a heart is slowly breaking. 

But while my sad, bewildered view 
The wide confusion vainly traces, 

One look I see serenely true. 

Among the false and loveless faces. 

Like yon blue sky, when first it shows 

The storm-tost ship how Heaven hath pity ; 

Or some pure mountain breeze that blows 
Its healing o'er a plague-struck city. 

A voice not loud, like wind or wave, 

A look made low by conscious greatness. 

Where all is calm, and deep, and grave. 
With a full soul's mature sedateness. 

By Him subdued to thought and peace, 
The crowd no more in tumult wander ; 

The sounds of surging riot cease, 

And hearts high swollen devoutly ponder. 
7 



74 THE GOSPEL. 

By his mild glance and sober power 
Renewed to tranquil aspiration, 

My soul escapes the reckless hour, 
And learns his spirit's pure elation. 

To thee, O God ! a man redeemed, 
With all a world to thee returning, 

We own the light from Him that beamed, 
In Him the source for ever burning. 

So, 'mid our stormy griefs and joys. 
May He still teach unforced devotion. 

Recall our shaken being's poise, 
And clear and deepen all emotion. 



SONNET. 



SACRED OFFERIXG. 



John, Chapter xi. 



" I AM the resurrection and the life, — 
He who believes in me shall never die." 
These, Master, were thy words ; and still rely 
My hopes unmoved upon them, 'mid the strife 
Of earthly care ; and then I follow thee 
To the cold grave where Lazarus is laid. 



LAZARUS AND MARY. 75 

I see thy tears, and Mary asks thine aid, — 
The aid is present. " That thou hearedst me, 
Father, I thank thee " ; and thou criest aloud 

To Lazarus, " Come forth ! " He lives, he 
breathes. 

The funeral garb is rent, the many wreaths 
Of death are torn away, and the pale shroud ; 
Whilst wondering forms around the Saviour 

move. 
And own the presence of Almighty Love. 



LAZARUS AND MARY. 



TENNYSON. — " IN IMEMORIAJI.' 



When Lazarus left his charnel-cave. 
And home to Mary's house returned, 
Was this demanded, — if he yearned 

To hear her weeping by his grave? 

" Where wert thou, brother, those four days ? " 

There lives no record of reply, 

Which, telling what it is to die, 
Had surely added praise to praise. 

From every house the neighbors met. 

The streets were filled with joyful sound ; 



76 THE GOSPEL. 

A solemn gladness even crowned 
The purple brows of Olivet. 

Behold a man raised up by Christ ! 

The rest remaineth unrevealed ; 

He told it not ; or something sealed 
The lips of that Evangelist. 



Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, 
Nor other thought her mind admits 
But, he was dead, and there he sits, 

And he that brought him back is there. 

Then one deep love doth supersede 
All other, when her ardent gaze 
Boves from the living brother's face, 

And rests upon the Life indeed. 

All subtle thought, all curious fears, 
Borne down by gladness so complete, 
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet 

With costly spikenard and with tears. 

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers. 
Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
What souls possess themselves so pure, 

Or is there blessedness like theirs ? 



COMMUNION HYMN. 77 

COMFORT. 



MRS. E. B. BROWNING. 



Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet 
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, 
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so 
Who art not missed by any that entreat. 
Speak to me as to Mary at thy feet, — 
And if no precious gums my hands bestow, 
Let my tears drop like amber, while I go 
In reach of thy divinest voice complete 
In humanest affection, — thus, in sooth. 
To lose the sense of losing ! As a child, 
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore. 
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth, — 
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled. 
He sleeps the faster that he wept before. 



COMMUNION HYMN. 

N. L. FROTHINGHAM. 

" Do this in remembrance of me." 

" How he was known of them in breaking of bread.' 

" Remember me," the Saviour said, 

On that forsaken night, 
When from his side the nearest fled, 

And death was close in sight. 

7# 



78 THE GOSPEL. 

Through all the following ages' track 

The world remembers yet ; 
With love and worship gazes back, 

And never can forget. 

But who of us has seen his face, 

Or heard the words he said ? 
And none can now his look retrace 

In breaking of the bread. 

O blest are they, who have not seen, 

And yet believe him still ! 
They know him, when his praise they mean, 

And when they do his will. 

We hear his word along our way ; 

We see his light above ; 
Remember when we sti'ive and pray, 

Remember when we love. 



THE MASTER. 



S. D. KQEBUTS. 



Thou art our Master ! Thou of God the Son, 

Of man the friend ; 
By thee alone the victory is won : 

Our souls defend I 



THE MASTER. 79 

Thou art the Master ! let us love thy word : 

Thy spirit give ! 
Let us obey thee as our risen Lord, 

Obey, and live. 

Thou art our Master ! with thy cross, thy crown, 

Thou Crucified ! 
Now from thy starry throne look gently down, 

With us abide ! 

Thou art our Master ! through the narrow way 

Thou once didst tread. 
Lead thy disciples upward to the day ! 

Thou living Head ! 

Thou art our Master ! at thy feet we cast 

Our burdens now. 
The yoke of Love we take ; O, bind us fast ! 

To thee we bow. 

Thou art our Master ! through our earthly home 

No guide but thee ! 
And when thy kingdom unto us shall come, 

Our servant be I * 

* Luke xii. 37. 



80 THE GOSPEL. 



HYIVIN TO JESUS. 

SYLVESTER JUDD. 

O Son of God ! thy children we ; 

Train us in holiness : 
As thou the Father's image bore, 

Thine own on us impress. 

O Bread of God ! our natures crave 

The lost beatitude : 
The Father gave thee meat unknown ; 

Give us thy flesh and blood. 

O Vine of God ! of thee bereft, 

Our virtues wilt and die : 
Thou wert the Father's tender care ; 

Shield us when danger 's nigh. 

O "Word of God ! thy voice we hear, 

And hail the truth divine ; 
To thy commandments, broad and pure, 

Our hearts and ways incline. 

O Love of God ! we seek to dwell 

In love, and God, and thee ; 
The end of woes, the end of sins, 

Shall love's perfection be. 



HYMN TO JESUS. 81 

Light of the World ! our path illume ; 

The shadowy fear disperse ; 
Shine on these realms of woe and sin ; 

Undo the heavy curse. 

Water of Life ! our life's sweet spring ; 

In us thy stream renew ; 
On lowly grace thy grace distil, 

Kindly as Hermon's dew. 

O Shepherd ! guard thy little flock ; 

Keep us from strife and guile ; 
Serene our life ; be our life's close 

Calm as a summer isle, 

O Crucified! we share thy cross ; 

Thy passion too sustain ; 
We die thy death, to live thy life. 

And rise with thee again. 

O Glorified ! thy glory breaks ; 

Our new-born spirits sing ; 
Salvation cometh with the morn ; 

Hope spreads an heavenward wing. 



82 THE GOSPEL. 



"I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU COMFOETLESS. 

MAKGAKET FULLER OSSOLI. 

Friend divine ! this promise dear 
Falls sweetly on the weary ear ! 
Often, in hours of sickening pain, 

It soothes me to thy rest again. 

Might I a true disciple be, 
Following thy footsteps faithfully, 
Then should I still the succor prove 
Of Him who gave his life for love. 

When this fond heart would vainly beat 
For bliss that ne'er on earth we meet. 
For perfect sympathy of soul 
From those such heavy laws control ; 

When, roused from passion's ecstasy, 

1 see the dreams that filled it fly, — 
Amid my bitter tears and sighs 
Those gentle words before me rise. 

With aching brows and feverish brain . 
The founts of intellect I drain. 
And con with over-anxious thought 
What poets sung and heroes wrought. 



" I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU COMFORTLESS." 83 

Enchanted with then- deeds and lays, 
I with like gems would deck my days ; 
No fires creative in me burn, 
And, humbled, I to Thee return. 

When blackest clouds around me rolled 
Of scepticism drear and cold, • 
When love and hope and joy and pride 
Forsook a spirit deeply tried, — 

My reason wavered in that hour. 
Prayer, too impatient, lost its power ; 
From thy benignity a ray 
I caught, and found the perfect day. 

A head revered in dust was laid ; 
For the first time I watched my dead ; 
The widow's sobs were checked in vain. 
And childhood's tears poured down like rain. 

In awe I gaze on that dear face. 
In sorrow, years gone by retrace. 
When, nearest duties most forgot, 
I might have blessed, and did it not ! 

Ignorant, his wisdom I reproved. 
Heedless, passed by what most he loved. 
Knew not a life like his to prize. 
Of ceaseless toil and sacrifice. 



84 THE GOSPEL. 

No tears can now that hushed heart move, 
No cares display a daughter's love ; 
The fair occasion lost, no more 
Can thoughts more just to thee restore 

What can I do ? and how atone 
For all I 've done, and left undone ? 
Tearful I search the parting words 
Which the beloved John records. 

" Not comfortless ! " I dry my eyes, 
My duties clear before me rise ; — 
Before thou think' st of taste or pride, 
See home-affections satisfied ! 

Be not with generous thoughts content, 
But on well-doing constant bent : 
When self seems dear, self-seeking fair. 
Remember this sad hour in prayer ! 

Though all thou wishest fly thy touch, 
Much can one do who loveth much. 
More of thy spirit, Jesus ! give. 
Not comfortless, though sad, to live. 

And yet not sad, if I can know 
To copy Him who here below 
Sought but to do his Father's wall. 
Though from such sweet composure still 



COMMUNION HYMN. 85 

My heart be far. Wilt thou not aid 
One whose best hopes on thee are stayed? 
Breathe into me thy perfect love. 
And guide me to thy rest above ! 



COMMUNION HYMN. 

N. L. FROTHINGHAM. 

" And he took bread, and gave thanks." 

The Son of God gave thanks, 

Before the bread he broke : 
How high that calm devotion ranks 

Among the words he spoke ! 

Thanks, 'mid those troubled men ; 

Thanks, in that dismal hour ; 
The world's dark prince advancing then 

In all his rage and power. 

Thanks, o'er that loafs dread sign ; 

Thanks, o'er that bitter food ; 
And o'er the cup, that was not wine, 

But sorrow, fear, and blood. 

8 



86 THE GOSPEL. 

And shall our griefs resent 
What God appoints as best, 

When he, in all things innocent, 
Was yet in all distressed ? 

Shall we unthankful be 

For all our blessings round, 

When in that press of agony 

Such room for thanks he found ? 

O shame us, Lord I — whate'er 
The fortunes of our days, — 

K, suffering, we are weak to bear, 
If, favored, slow to praise. 



HYMN. 



J. PIEEPONT. 



" And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount 
of Olives." — Matthew xxvi. 30. 



The winds are hushed ; the peaceful moon 

Looks down" on Zion's hill; 
The city sleeps ; 't is night's calm noon, 

And all the streets are still, — 



HYMN. 87 

Save when, along the shaded walks, 

We hear the watchman's call, 
Or the guard's footstep, as he stalks 

In moonlight on the wall. 

How soft, how holy, is this light ! 

And hark ! a mournful song. 
As gentle as these dews of night, 

Floats on the air along. 

Affection's wish, devotion's prayer, 

Are in that holy strain ; 
'T is resignation, not despair; 

'T is triumph, though 't is pain. 

'T is Jesus and his faithful few, 

That pour that hymn of love ; 
O God ! may we the song renew 

Around thy board above ! 



88 



THE GOSPEL. 



CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. 

J. KEBLE. — CHRISTIAN YEAK. 

" Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me; 
nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done." — Luke xxii. 42. 

Lord my God, do thou thy holy will ! 

I will lie still, — 

1 will not stir, lest I forsake thine arm, 

And break the charm 
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast. 
In perfect rest. 

Wild Fancy, peace ! thou must not me beguile 

With thy false smile : 
I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways ; 

Be silent, Praise, 
Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all 

That hear thy call. 

Come, Self-devotion, high and pure. 
Thoughts that in thankfulness endure. 
Though dearest hopes are faithless found, 
And dearest hearts are bursting round. 
Come, Resignation, spirit meek, 
And let me kiss thy placid cheek, 
And read, in thy pale eye serene, 
Their blessing who by faith can wean 



CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. 

Their hearts from sense, and learn to love 
God only, and the joys above. 

They say, who know the life divine. 

And upward gaze with eagle eyne. 

That by each golden crown on high, 

Rich with celestial jewelry. 

Which for our Lord's redeemed is set. 

There hangs a radiant coronet. 

All gemmed with pure and living light, 

Too dazzling for a sinner's sight. 

Prepared for virgin souls, and "them 

Who seek the martyr's diadem. 

Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire. 

Must win their way through blood and fire. 

The writhings of a wounded heart 

Are fiercer than a foeman's dart. 

Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining. 

In desolation unrepining. 

Without a hope on earth to find 

A mirror in an answering mind. 

Meek souls there are, who little deem 

Their daily strife an angel's theme, 

Or that the rod they take so calm 

Shall prove in heaven a martyr's palm. 

And there are souls that seem to dwell 
Above this earth, — so rich a spell 

8* 



90 THE GOSPEL. 

Floats round their steps, where'er they move, 

From hopes fulfilled and mutual love. 

Such, if on high their thoughts are set, 

Nor in the stream the source forget. 

If prompt to quit the bliss they know, 

Following the Lamb where'er he go, 

By purest pleasures unbeguiled 

To idolize or wife or child, — 

Such wedded souls our God shall own 

For faultless virgins round his throne. 

The cross on Calvary 
Uplifted high 
Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light 
In open fight. 

To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart 

He doth impart 
The virtue of his midnight agony. 

When none was nigh. 
Save God and one good angel, to assuage 

The tempest's rage. 

Mortal ! if life smile on thee, and thou find 

All to thy mind, 
Think, who did once from heaven to hell descend, 

Thee to befriend : 
So shalt thou dare forego, at his dear call, 

Thy best, thine all. 



THE TWO SAYINGS. 91 

" O Father! not my will, but thine, be done! " — 

So spake the Son. 
Be this our charm, mellowing earth's ruder noise, 

Of griefs and joys ; 
That we may cling for ever to thy breast, 

In perfect rest ! 



1 



THE TWO SAYINGS. 



MKS. E. B. BROWNING. 



Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat, 
Like pulses, in the Church's brow and breast ; 
And by them we find rest for our unrest, 
And, heart-deep in salt tears, do yet entreat 
God's fellowship, as if on heavenly seat. 
The first is Jesus wept, — whereon is prest 
Full many a sobbing face that drops its best 
And sweetest waters on the record sweet : — 
And one is where the Christ denied and scorned 
Looked upon Peter. Oh, to render plain. 
By help of having loved a little, and mourned, 
That look of sovran love and sovran pain. 
Which He who could not sin, yet suffered, turned 
On him who could reject, but not sustain ! 



92 THE GOSPEL. 

THE SAVIOUR'S DYING HOUR. 



MRS. HEMANS. 



O Son of Man ! 
Shadows of earth closed round thee fearfully ! 

All that on us is laid, 

All the deep gloom, 
The desolation and the abandonment, 

The dark amaze of death, 

All upon Thee too fell, 

Redeemer I Son of Man ! 

But the keen pang 

Wherewith the silver cord 
Of earth's affection from the soul is wrung, — 
The uptearing of those tendrils which have grown 

Into the quick strong heart, — 
This, tills, the passion and the agony 

Of battling love and death, 

Surely was not for Thee^ 

Holy One! Son of God! 

Yes, my Redeemer ! 

E'en this cup was thine ! 
Fond wailing voices called thy spirit back ; 

E'en midst the mighty thoughts 

Of that last crowning hour. 
E'en on thine awful way to victory. 



93 



Wildly they called thee back ! 
And weeping eyes of love 
Unto thy heart's deep core 
Pierced through the folds of death's mysterious 
veil ; 
Sufferer ! thou Son of Man ! 

Mother-tears were mingled 

With thy costly blood-drops, 
In the shadow of the atoning cross ; 

And the friend, the faithful, 

He that on thy bosom, 
Thence imbibing heavenly love, had lain, — 

He,' a pale sad watcher, — 

Met with looks of anguish 
All the anguish in thy last meek glance, 

Dying Son of Man ! 

Oh ! therefore unto thee. 

Thou that hast known all woes 
Bound in the girdle of mortality ! 

Thou that wilt lift the reed 

Which storms have bruised, — 
To thee may sorrow through each conflict cry ; 
And in that tempest hour when love and life 

Mysteriously must part. 

When tearful eyes 

Are passionately bent 
To drink earth's last fond meaning from our gaze, 

Then, then forsake us not ! 



94 THE GOSPEL. 

Shed on our spirits then 
The faith and deep submissiveness of thine ! 

Thou that didst love, 

Thou that didst weep and die, 
Thou that didst rise, a victor glorified ! 

Conqueror ! thou Son of God ! 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 



H. HEDGE. 



'T WAS the day when God's Anointed 
Died for us the death appointed, 

Bleeding on the dreadful cross ; 
Day of darkness, day of terror, 
Deadly fruit of ancient error, 

Nature's fall, and Eden's loss ! 

Haste, prepare the bitter chalice! 
Gentile hate and Jewish malice 

Lift the royal victim high, — 
Like the serpent, wonder-gifted. 
Which the Prophet once uplifted, — 

For a sinful world to die ! 

Conscious of the deed unholy, 
Nature's pulses beat more slowly, 

And the sun his light denied ; 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 95 

Darkness wrapped the sacred city, 
And the earth with fear and pity- 
Trembled when the Just One died. 

It is finished, Man of sorrows ! 
From thy cross our nature borrows 

Strength to bear and conquer thus. 
While exalted there we view thee. 
Mighty Sufferer, draw us to thee, 

Sufferer victorious ! 

Not in vain for us uplifted, 
Man of sorrows, wonder-gifted ! 

May that sacred symbol be. 
Eminent amid the ages. 
Guide of heroes and of sages. 

May it guide us still to thee ! 

Still to thee, whose love unbounded 
Sorrow's deep for us hath sounded. 

Perfected by conflicts sore. 
Glory to thy cross for ever ! 
Star that points our high endeavor 

Whither thou hast gone before. 



96 THE GOSPEL. 



"DARKNESS SHROUDED CALVARY." 

SARAH F. ADA3IS. 

, Darkness shrouded Calvary, 

An earthquake rent the Temple's veil ; 
Human grief and human fear 

Uttered mournful wail ; 
There came a voice like light athwart the skies, 
" To-day thou 'It be with me in Paradise." 

Darkness shrouds humanity 

When death doth sunder heart from heart ; 
Human love and human hope 
Cannot bear to part : 
Again that voice is heard athwart the skies, 
" To-day thou 'It be with me in Paradise." 



MARY BY THE CROSS. 



W. J. FOX. 



Jews were wrought to cruel madness ; 
Christians fled in fear and sadness ; 
Mary stood the cross beside : 

At its foot her foot she planted, 
By the dreadful scene undaunted, 
Till the gentle Sufferer died. 



SONNET. 97 

Poets oft have sung her 'story, 
Painters decked her brow with glory, 
Priests her name have deified. 

But no worship, song, or glory 
Touches like that simple story, — 
Mary stood the cross beside. 

And when, under fierce oppression. 

Goodness suffers like transgression, 

Christ again is crucified ; 

But if love be there, true-hearted, 
By no grief or terror parted, 

Mary stands the cross beside. 



SONNET. 

SACKED OFFERING. 

John, Chapter xix. 



Stretched on the cross, with mortal woe op- 
pressed. 
The Son of Man breathed forth his parting 

sighs ; * 

Darkness o'erspread the earth ; and then the cries 
Of smitten hearts were heard, and nearer pressed 

9 



98 THE GOSPEL. 

His mother, and the follower whom he loved. 

" Mother, behold thy son ! " the Saviour said, — 

" Behold thy mother ! " The o'erwhelming 
dread 
Of death came o'er him ; yet his pale lips moved 
With love and mercy still, as the base crowd 

Mocked at his sufferings, and the tumult grew. 

" Father, forgive ! they know not what they do I " 
Was heard amid his anguish, and aloud 
He cried, " ' T is finished I " bowed his hallowed 

head. 
And to his God the chastened spirit fled. 



LOOKING UNTO JESUS. 

SIRS. MILES. 

Thou who didst stoop below, 

To drain the cup of woe. 
And wear the form of frail mortality, 

Thy blessed labors done. 

Thy crown of victory won, 
Hast passed from earth, — passed to thy home 
on high. 

« It was no path of flowers, 

Through this dark world of ours, 
Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread ; 



LINES WRITTEN AT THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. 99 

And shall we, in dismay, 
Slirink from the narrow way, 
When clouds and darkness are around it spread ? 

O Thou, who art our life, 

Be with us through the strife ; 
Thy own meek head by rudest storms was bowed ; 

Raise thou our eyes above. 

To see a Father's love 
Beam, like a bow of promise, through the cloud. 

E'en through the awful gloom 
Which hovers o'er the tomb. 

That light of love our guiding star shall be ; 
Our spirits shall not dread 
The shadowy way to tread. 

Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to 
thee. 



LINES WEITTEN AT THE TEMPLE OF THE 
HOLY SEPLT.CHRE. 

COPIED FEOM A VERY OLD EDITION OF SANDTS'S TEATELS. 

Saviour of mankind, Man ! Emmanuel ! 
Who, sinless, died for sin ; who vanquished hell ; 
The first-fruits of the grave ; whose life did give 
Light ta our darkness ; in whose death we live ; 



100 THE GOSPEL. 

O, strengthen thou my faith, correct my will, 
So that the latter death may not devour 
My soul sealed with thy seal. So in the hour 
When thou, whose body sanctified this tomb, 
Unjustly judged, a glorious Judge shall come 
To judge the world with justice, by that sign 
I may be known, and entertained for thine. 



MAEY AND JOHN, BEFOKE THE KESUR- 
EECTION. 



S. G. BULFINCH. 



My mother ! in the awful hour 

When darkness o'er us lay. 
While, fainting by the Blest One's cross, 

My arm became thy stay. 
Did not his gentle voice then seal 

The bond for thee and me, 
And give me for the coming time 

To be a son to thee ? 

O privilege of all most high ! 

O boon of all most dear ! 
Still, still, in sweet, sad memory 

That voice I seem to hear. 
Then come, my mother ! share the cot 

Thy Jesus oft hath blest, 



MARY AND JOHN. 101 

Far hence, where blue Gennesareth 
Expands his peaceful breast. 

The boat lies idle on the strand, 

The net hangs by the wall ; 
In happier hour, when hope was high, 

For him I left them all. 
Now, for his sake and thine, I turn 

Back to that quiet sea. 
Farewell, ye proud and guilty towers ! 

My mother I come with me ! 

There oft, when eve's advancing shades 

O'er hill and lake are thrown. 
Will we recall the varied past, 

And weep for hopes now gone. 
Then will we waken slumbering faith. 

And lift our brightening eyes 
To Him, who e'en from this deep gloom 

Can bid the light arise. 

Yes, we will tru^t ! My thought retains 

Words of mysterious power 
The Loved One spoke, as o'er his soul 

Darkened the destined hour. 
That he should rise again I O joy ! 

But ah I for hope too dear ! 
Some mystic meaning sure was there. 

That time shall render clear. 

9=* 



102 " THE GOSPEL. 

Perchance another, in his might, 

With burning words shall come, 
A^id lead repentant Israel forth 

To mourn above his tomb. 
Perchance his rising will be there 

Where we with him shall rise. 
To meet the Father's smile of love 

In yonder holy skies ! 

But now, the night in watching spent, 

How glorious breaks the day ! 
The sisters hasten to the tomb, 

The last sad rites to pay ; 
And lo ! our brethren's scattered band 

Are gathering mournfully, — 
All here except that sacred form 

We never more may see I 



SONNET. 



SACRED OFFERING. 



Matthew, Chapter xxviii. 



At early morn before the Saviour's tomb 

The holy women wept. The conscious world 

Shook with an earthquake, and amid the gloom 
An angel form appeared, and instant hurled 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 103 

The mighty stone away. Immortal bloom 

Was round about him, and as lightning shone 
His eyes and polished brow. The soldiers, come 

To guard the sacred sepulchre, fell down, 
Like dead men to the earth, o'ercome with fear. 

Then spoke the angel messenger : " I know 
Ye seek the Christ ; fear not, he is not here, 

For he is risen, as he promised, — lo! 
I 've told you, — and he goes to Galilee ; 
There once again the Saviour ye shall see." 



THE WALK TO EIVBIAUS. 



It happened on a solemn eventide. 

Soon after He that was our Surety died, 

Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 

The scene of all those sorrows left behind. 

Sought their own village, busied as they went 

In musings worthy of the great event : 

They spake of him they loved, of him whose life, 

Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife, 

Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 

A deep memorial graven on their hearts. 

A recollection, like a vein of ore, 

The farther traced, enriched them stiU the more ; 



104 THE GOSPEL. 

They thought him, and they justly thought him, 

one 
Sent to do more than he appeared to have done, — 
To exalt a people, and to place them high 
Above all else, — and wondered he should die. 
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
A sti'anger joined them, courteous as a friend, 
And asked them, with a kind, engaging air, 
What their affliction was, and begged a share. 
Informed, he gathered up the broken thread, 
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 
Explained, illustrated, and searched so well 
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell. 
That, reaching home, " The night," they said, " is 

near; 
We must not now be parted, — sojourn here." 
The new acquaintance soon become a guest, 
And, made so welcome at their simple feast. 
He blest the bread, but vanished at the word, 
And left them both exclaiming, " 'Twas the Lord! 
Did not our hearts feel all he deigned to say ? 
Did they not burn within us by the way ? " 



THE ASCENSION. 105 



THE ASCENSION. 



Why is thy face so lit with smiles, 

Mother of Jesus, why ? 
And wherefore is thy beaming look 

So fixed upon the sky ? 

From out thine overflowing eyes 
Bright lights of gladness part. 

As though some gushing fount of joy 
Had broken in thy heart. 

His rising form on Olivet 

A summer's shadow cast ; 

The branches of the hoary trees 

Drooped as the shadow passed. 

The silver cloud hath sailed away, 
The skies are blue and free ; 

The road that vision took is now 
Sunshine and vacancy. 

The feet which thou hast kissed so oft. 
Those living feet, are gone ; 

Mother ! thou canst but stoop and kiss 
Their print upon the stone. 



106 THE GOSPEL. 

Yes ! he hath left thee, mother dear ! 
His throne is far above ; 

How canst thou be so full of joy- 
When thou hast lost thy Love ? 

O surely earth's poor sunshine no 
To thee mere gloom appears, 

When he is gone who was its light 
For three and thirty years. 

Why do not thy sweet hands detain 
His feet upon their way ? 

O, why doth not the mother speak. 
And bid her Son to stay ? 

Ah, no ! thy love is rightful love, 
From all self-seeking free ; 

The change that is such gain to him 
Can be no loss to thee ! 

'T is sweet to feel our Saviom-'s love, 
To feel his presence near ; 

Yet loyal love his glory holds 

A thousand times more dear. 

Ah ! never is our love so pure 
As when refined by pain. 

Or when God's glory upon earth 
Finds in our loss its gain ! 



THE CHRISTIAN THRONES. 107 



THE CHEISTIAN THRONES. 

W. p. LUNT. 

" Then answered Peter, and said tinto him, Behold, we have for- 
saken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore? 

" And Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, that ye which 
have followed me, in the regeneration, when the Son of Man shall sit 
on the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judg- 
ing the twelve tribes of Israel." — Matthew xix. 27, 28. 

" O NOT in vain, my chosen band, 

Have ye deserted all for me ; 
Ye 're held by an almighty hand. 

That guides the car of destiny. 
The awe-struck nations, as ye go 
In triumph through the earth, shall bow. 

" Thrones shall be yours, — not earthly thrones, 
The crumbling seats of human pride, — 

The King of kings shall give you crowns. 
And raise you honored to my side. 

Where'er Messiah's glory spreads. 

Reflected light shall grace your heads." 

It was no chief in war-an-ay. 

Whose battle-share had ploughed the soil 
Of many a realm, thus gave away 

The harvest of his bloody toil. 
These words of hope by Him were said 
Who had not where to lay his head. 



108 



THE GOSPEL. 



Though humble was his earthly state 
From whom the cheering promise came, 

And mean as was their seeming fate 

Who heard announced their future fame, 

The advancing ages yet beheld 

The wondrous prophecy fulfilled. 

Saviour ! awhile to death submit ; 

Let frantic foes above thee rave ; 
Hell and the world in vain unite, — 

Thy gate of triumph is the grave. 
The worm thy fellow once, but now 
Heaven's diadem adorns thy brow. 

And ye who stood around the tree. 
And knew his sufferings full well, — 

Ye trusted that it had been he 
Should have redeemed lost Israel. 

Ye trusted ! Have ye lost that trust ? 

The cross is borne, — the tomb is burst. 

Your hopes revive ; but not at once 
Must ye the promised height attain ; 

They who would share the recompense 
Must drink the cup of shame and pain, — 

Must bear to be tormented, spurned, — 

Must give their bodies to be burned I 

The cup is dra.ined ; in many a land 
Your scattered limbs dishonored lie ; 



THE CHRISTIAN THRONES. 109 

And mustering fast at Heaven's command, 

The ministers of vengeance fly ; 
The blood-stained cross they bear on high, 
Blest symbol now of victory. 

What shriek is that which rends the air ? 

Jerusalem, with streaming eyes, 
Utters imploringly her cry, 

And looks for safety to the skies. 
Too late, alas ! she seeks her good ; 
Her garments are defiled with blood. 

God's holy prophets she hath slain, — 
From God's own Son she turned away ; 

Her corse lies mangled on the plain, — 
The eagles gather to their prey. 

They flap in triumph o'er the dead; 

Jerusalem ! thy glory 's fled I 

The Roman Caesars rule the world ; 

Jehovah's sway is given to Jove ; 
Another standard is unfurled, — 

The eagle cowers to the dove, — 
Before the nation's wondering eyes 
The Apostolic Thrones arise. 

The Northern whirlwind sweeps in vain 

O'er the fair fields of Italy , 
These thrones untouched by Goth remain, 

And Vandal vengeance passes by ; 

10 



110 THE GOSPEL. 

Christ and his holy t\velve command 
The homage of the barbarous band. 

Europe awhile, struck with dismay, 
Saw in her sky the Crescent's light ; 

It faded 'midst the blaze of day, 
It only decks the brow of night. 

Where science, art, and freedom shine 

The Gospel mingles light divine. 

To unknown shores, truth's guiding star 
Lights the discoverer o'er the sea ; 

To Western wilds it points afar, 
The future empire of the free ; 

And here, in freedom's chosen land. 

The Christian Thrones exalted stand. 

The ocean islands catch the light 

Which on their gloom in glory breaks ; 

And superstition, with affright. 

Through all her vast dominions quakes. 

The regions that have felt her rod 

Must be surrendered back to God. 

It comes, — the long predicted day, 
When all mankind, with one accord, 

Shall fling their idol gods away, 
And pay due homage to the Lord ! 

While earthly states to ruin tend, 

The Christian Thrones shall know no end. 



PART IV. 

MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



HOLY BAPTISM. 

J. KEBLE. — CHRISTIAN YEAR. 

"Where is it mothers learn their love ? 
In every church a fountain springs. 
O'er which the Eternal Dove 
Hovers on softest wings. 

"What sparkles in that lucid flood 
Is water by gross mortals eyed : 
But seen by faith, 't is blood 
Out of a dear Friend's side. 

A few calm words of faith and prayer, 
A few bright drops of holy dew, 
Shall work a wonder there, 
Earth's charmers never knew. 



112 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

O happy arms, where cradled lies. 
And ready for the Lord's embrace, 
That precious sacrifice. 
The darling of his grace ! 

Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam 
Upon the slmnbering features glow, 
When the life-giving stream 
Touches the tender brow ! 

Or when the holy cross is signed, 
And the young soldier duly sworn 
With true and fearless mmd 
To serve the Virgin-born. 

But happiest ye, who sealed and blest 
Back to your arms your treasure take, 
With Jesus' mark impressed, 
To nurse for Jesus' sake : 

To whom — as if in hallowed air 

Ye knelt before some awful shrine — 
His innocent gestures wear 
A meaning half divine : 

By whom Love's daily touch is seen 

In strengthening form and freshening hue, 
In the fixed brow serene. 
The deep yet eager ^dew. 



BABY CARL. 113 

Who taught thy pure and even breath 
To come and go with such sweet grace ? 
Whence thy reposing faith, 
Though in our frail embrace? 

O tender gem, and full of heaven ! 
Not in the twilight stars on high, 
Not in moist flowers at even, 
See we our God so nigh. 

Sweet one, make haste and know Him too, 
Thine own adopting Father love. 
That like thine earliest dew 
Thy dying sweets may prove. 



BABY CARL. 



MRS. S. F. CLAPP. 



Out from clouds of fear and darkness, 
Clothed in sunbeams, thou didst fall, 
Filling all the house with brightness 

At thy coming. 

Baby Carl! 
Light mysterious lingers with thee, 
From beyond the prison wall 
That our hands of clay have builded 

10=* 



114 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

Round thy spirit, 
Baby Carl! 

When thou smilest, art thou hearing 
Some mysterious angel call ? 
Or do bright celestial visions 

Float about thee, 

Baby Carl? 
By thy beauty and thy sweetness 
Thou dost hold all hearts in thrall ; 
Willing hands obey the mandates 

Of imperious 

Baby Carl. 

Underneath thy folded eyelids 
Creep no phantoms to appall ; 
Smile-wreathed dreams betray no glimpses 

Of life's battle, 

Baby Carl. 
Time shall bear the conflict to thee ; 
Late or soon, it comes to all ; 
Veiled a while in love paternal 

From thy vision, 

Baby Carl! 

Clouds of care shall close about thee. 
Fear shall make thy heart to quail ; 
Powerless is om- love to shield thee 

From the combat, 

Baby Carl. 



115 



Ere thy innocence forsakes thee, 

Or the angel-watches fail, 

May the Father's love recall thee 

Back to heaven, 

Baby Carl! 



WEST'S PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL. 



EPHRAIINI PEABODY. 



In childhood's spring, — ah, blessed spring ! • — 

(As flowers closed up at even 
Unfold in morning's earliest beam,) 

The heart unfolds to Heaven. 
Ah, blessed child ! that trustingly 

Adores, and loves, and fears. 
And to a Father's voice replies. 

Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. 

When youth shall come, — ah, blessed youth! 

If still the pure heart glows, 
And in the world and word of God 

Its Maker's language knows ; 
If in the night and in the day, 

'Midst youthful joys or fears. 
The trusting heart can answer still. 

Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. 



116 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

When age shall come, — ah, blessed age ! 

If in its lengthening shade. 
When life grows faint, and earthly lights 

Recede, and sink, and fade, — 
Ah, blessed age ! if then heaven's light 

Dawns on the closing eye, 
And faith unto the call of God 

Can answer. Here am 1 1 



TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
(for children.) 



Dear angel ! ever at my side, 

How loving must thou be, 
To leave thy home in heaven to guard 

A little child like me ! 

Thy beautiful and shining face 

I see not, though so near ; 
The sweetness of thy soft, low voice 

I am too deaf to hear. 

I cannot feel thee touch my hand 
With pressure light and mild. 



LINES TO D. G. T. OF SHERWOOD. 117 

To check me, as my mother did 
When I was but a child. 

But I have felt thee in my thoughts 

Fighting with sin for me ; 
And when my heart loves God, perhaps 

The sweetness is from thee. 

And when, dear spirit, I kneel down 

Morning and night to prayer. 
Something there is within my heart 

Which tells me thou art there. 

And thou in life's last hour wilt bring 

A fresh supply of grace, 
And afterwards wilt let me kiss 

Thy beautiful, bright face. 



LINES TO D. G. T. OF SHERWOOD. 

MES. M. G. HOKSFORD. 

Blessings on thee, noble boy! 

With thy sunny eyes of blue. 
Speaking in their cloudless depths 

Of a spu'it pure and true. 



118 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

In thy thoughtful look and calm, 
In thy forehead broad and high, 

We have seemed to meet again 
One whose home is in the sky. 

Thou to earth art still a stranger. 

To life's tumult and unrest ; 
Angel-visitants alone 

Stir the fountains in thy breast. 

Thou hast yet no Past to shadow 
With a fear thy Future's light, 

And the present spreads before thee 
Boundless as the infinite. 

But each passing hour must waken 

Energies that slumber now, 
Manhood with its fire and action 

Stamp that fair, unfurrowed brow. 

Into life's sublime arena. 

Opening through the world's broad mart. 
Bear thy mother's gentle spirit, 

And her kind and loving heart. 

With exalted hope and purpose, 
To the gi*eat and good aspire ; 

Downward, in unsullied glory 
Hand the honor of thy sire. 



LINES WRITTEN IN A PRAYER-BOOK. 119 

With that love for truth and justice 

After annals shall declare 
Highest proof of moral greatness, 

Nobly live and nobly dare. 

Cloudless pass thine infant days; 

Childhood bring thee naught but joy ; 
Manhood, thought and dignity : 

Blessings on thee, noble boy ! 



WRITTEN IN A PRAYER-BOOK GIVEN TO MY 
DAUGHTER. 



BERNARD BARTON. 



My creed requires no form of prayer ; 

Yet would I not condemn 
Those who adopt with pious care 

Their use as aids to them. 

One God hath fashioned them and me ; 

One Spirit is our guide ; 
For each, alike, upon the tree 

One common Saviour died ! 

Each the same trumpet-call shall wake, 
To face one judgment-seat ; 

God give us grace, for Jesus' sake, 
In the same heaven to meet ! 



120 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



THE SOUL. 



E. C. WATEESTON. 



Why was this ponderous planet hung in air, 
"With grandeur robed, and crowned with beauty 

fair ? 
Hear ye the voice which whispers from afar. 
Speaks in each breeze, is echoed from each star! 
For Man the myriad wheels of Nature roll ; 
He is the central sun, the Living Soul. 

View the glad earth, — her oceans and her rills, 
Her verdant valleys and her vine-clad hills; 
Behold with rapture all that meets thy sight, 
Beaming with love, and touched with heavenly 

light; 
But know that earth's magnificence combined. 
Shrinks to a point, when balanced with the Mind ! 

Let thy free thought go forth, and nobly dare 
To pierce high heaven, and view each splendor 

there. 
Draw the bright curtain from creation's face. 
And, trembling, gaze through boundless fields of 

space ; 
Yet feel that those vast scenes before thee brought 
Are not so wondrous as thy Power of Thought ! 



THE SOUL. 



121 



O Thou, who " spake creation into birth," 
Then formed the Soul as sovereign of the earth, 
Naught is so vast in thy majestic plan. 
As thine own image symbolized in man ! 
Teach us to know, and humbly to revere 
The mighty marvels thou hast centred here; 
To bow with awe before each inward light. 
The sense of wrong, the consciousness of right. 
The aspirations which to heaven would soar, — 
The power to love, contemplate, and adore ; 
Mysterious thought, which with an eagle glance 
Measures the depth of infinite expanse ; 
Immortal hope, that may for ever shine ; — 
These live within, and burn with power divine ! 

Arouse thee. Soul ! and turn thy piercing eye 
On thine own inward being ! Learn the high 
And holy purposes for which on earth 
Jehovah gave thy wondrous spirit birth : 
Ponder each heavenly hope, each earthly strife. 
And know the long — forever — of thy life ! 

Up ! child of earth, and, wondering, behold 
This world of thought. Let all its powers unfold 
Before thine awe-struck vision. Guard with care 
The faintest spark which God has kindled there ; 
Let no untimely frost, nor blight of sin, 
Blast the immortal life which buds within ! 
11 



122 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 

CHAKLES MACKAY. 

I HAVE a wondrous house to build, 
A dwelling, humble yet divine ; 
A lowly cottage to be filled 

With all the jewels of the mine. 
How shall I build it strong and fair, — 
This noble house, this lodging rare. 

So small and modest, yet so great ? 
How shall I fill its chambers bare 
With use, with ornaments, with state ? 

My God hath given the stone and clay ; 

'T is I must fashion them aright ; 
'T is I must mould them day by day, 

And make my labor my delight ; 
This cot, this palace, this fair home, 
This pleasure-house, this holy dome. 

Must be in all proportions fit. 
That heavenly messengers may come 

To lodge with him who tenants it. 

No fairy bower this house must be. 
To totter at each gale that starts. 

But of substantial masonry, 
Symmetrical in all its parts : 



THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 123 

Fit in its strength to stand sublime, 
For seventy years of mortal time, 

Defiant of the storm and rain, 
And well attempered to the clime 

In every cranny, nook, and pane. 

I '11 build it so, that if the blast 

Around it whistle loud and long. 
The tempest when its rage has passed 

Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. 
I '11 build it so that travellers by 
Shall view it with admiring eye, 

For its commodiousness and grace : 
Firm on the ground, — straight to the sky, — 

A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. 

Thus noble in its outward form. 

Within I '11 build it clean and white ; 
Not cheerless cold, but happy warm, 

And ever open to the light. 
No tortuous passages or stair. 
No chamber foul, or dungeon lair, 

No gloomy attic, shall there be. 
But wide apartments, ordered fair, 

And redolent of purity. 

"With three compartments furnished well, 
The house shall be a home complete; 

Wherein, should circumstance rebel. 
The humble tenant may retreat. 



124 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

The first, a room wherein to deal 
With men for human nature's weal, 

A room where he may work or play, 
And all his social life reveal 

In its pure texture, day by day. 

The second, for his wisdom sought. 

Where, with his chosen book or friend. 
He may employ his active thought 

To virtuous or exalted end. 
A chamber lofty and serene. 
With a door-window to the green. 

Smooth-shaven sward, and arching bowers. 
Where lore, or talk, or song between 

May gUd his intellectual hours. 

The third an oratory dim, 

But beautiful, where he may raise, 
Unheard of men, his daily hymn 

Of love and gratitude and praise ; 
Where he may revel in the light 
Of things unseen and infinite. 

And learn how little he may be, 
And yet how awful in thy sight, 

Ineffable Eternity ! 

Such is the house that I must build ; 
This is the cottage, this the dome, 
And this the palace, treasure-filled. 
For an immortal's earthly home. 



125 



O noble work of toil and care ! 
O task most difficult and rare ! 

O simple but most arduous plan ! 
To raise a dwelling-place so fair, 

The sanctuary of a Man. 



NEW YEAR'S DAY. 



W. B. O. PEABODY. 



How fast the rushing files of years 

Move on their stern array! 
The messenger of joy and tears, 

Of rising or decay. 
While many a weary heart grows cold 
To see how soon the tale is told, 
The young heart wakes, — the young eye seems 
To catch new brightness from the gleams 
Of glorious and reviving beams 

That crown the New Year's day. 

This day reminds us of the past, 

When young existence ran, 
A radiant current, bright and fast, 

Before the storms began, 

And threw the shadow of their wrath 

Across the brightness of our path, 
11 # 



126 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

To cloud the visions, sweet and strange, 
Of youthful fancy in its range, 
And teach us what a dreary change 
It is — to be a man. 

Bright as the good old winter blaze 
The high remembrance burns, 

Soon as one glimpse of early days 
The weary soul discerns. 

The rising of the New Year's sun 

Brings back those pleasures, one by one ; 

The early "wish," — the glad reply 

Of little voices ringing high. 

Before the dawn was in the sky, — 
The very sound returns. 

Then, all that day, the sparkle played 

In every youthful eye ; 
The stern old teacher kindly laid 

His week-day terrors by. 
The New Year's wish was warmly given ; 
There was no chill but that of heaven. 
To check the free and joyous glow 
Of young emotions in their flow I 
And even the wild winds moaned low 

Through all the frozen sky. 

And when, around the sounding blaze, 
The evening circle spread, 



NEW year's day, 127 

The firelight cast on every face 

Its deep and radiant red ; 
We talked of darkness and its powers, 
Of ghosts that walked in shivering towers, — 
Till, listening to the tales of wonder, 
Each sound was like the startling thunder, 
And our young hearts were rent asunder, 

In that delighted dread. 

Like one who from a distant land 

Returns, his home to see. 
And starts, to see the stranger stand 

Beneath his father's tree. 
To us the coming New Year's day 
Tells but of pleasure far away ; 
The day^ without the joy^ returns ; 
The^re, but not the bosom, burns; 
And there the spirit sadly learns 

What man was meant to be. 

The dial hands of heaven sublime 
Wheel round their brilliant 'way, 

And point to man the lapse of time. 
While man grows old and gray. 

His joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 

Are sinking in the grave of years ; 

But this dark prospect is not all ; 

And though the shades of evening fall. 

He yet may hear a heavenly call 
To hail a New Year's day. 



128 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



ON NEW YEAE'S DAY. 

SACRED OFFERING. 

Light of another year again I see, 

And its first day is mine I But whether I 
May see it join the past eternity, 

My Father and my God ! depends on thee. 

O grant its hours, as on swift wing they flee. 
In peace and goodness, compassed by thy love. 
May swiftly glide ; so shall my soul not move. 

Though sorrow waits the dark futurity. 

Thus would I consecrate this year ; and oh ! 
If other prayer is beating in my breast, 
It is for those I love, that they may rest 

In the same trust, the same high comfort know ; 

That when our years their destined race have run, 

We each may find the meed of virtue won. 



CLOSE OF THE YEAK. 

EBENEZER ELLIOTT. 

Another year is swallowed by the sea 

Of sumless waves ! 
Another year, thou past Eternity ! 

Hath rolled o'er new-made graves. 



CHURCHES IN BOSTON. 129 

They open yet — to bid the living weep, 

Where tears are vain ; 
While they, unswept into the ruthless deep. 

Storm-tried and sad, remain. 

Why are we spared ? Surely to wear away. 

By useful deeds, 
Vile traces, left beneath the upbraiding spray, 

Of empty shells and weeds. 

But there are things which time devoureth not : 
Thoughts, whose green youth 

Flowers o'er the ashes of the unforgot ; 
And words, whose fruit is truth. 

Are ye not imaged in the eternal sea, 

Things of to-day ? 
Deeds which are harvest for eternity, 

Ye cannot pass away ! 



CHURCHES IN BOSTON. 



O. W. HOLMES. 



" What is thy creed ? " a hundred lips inquu*e ; 
"Thou seekest God beneath what Christian spire?" 
Nor ask they idly, for uncounted lies 
Float upward on the smoke of sacrifice : 



130 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

When man's first incense rose above the plain. 
Of earth's two altars, one was built by Cain ! 

Uncursed by doubt, our earliest creed we take ; 
We love the precepts for the teacher's sake ; 
The simple lessons which the nursery taught 
Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought, 
And the full blossom owes its fairest hue 
To those sweet tear-drops of aftection's dew. 

Too oft the light that led our earlier hours 
Fades with the perfume of our cradle flowers ; 
The clear, cold question chills to frozen doubt ; 
Tired of beliefs, we dread to live without ; 
O then, if Reason waver at thy side. 
Let humbler Memory be thy gentle guide ; 
Go to thy birthplace, and, if faith was there. 
Repeat thy father's creed, thy mother's prayer ! 

Faith loves to lean on Time's destroying arm, 
And age, like distance, lends a double charm ; 
In dim cathedrals, dark with vaulted gloom. 
What holy awe invests the saintly tomb ! 
There pride will bow, and anxious care expand, 
And creeping avarice come with open hand ; 
The gay can weep, the impious can adore. 
From morn's first glimmerings on the chancel 

floor 
Till dying sunset sheds his crimson stains 
Through the faint halos of the irised panes. 



CHURCHES IN BOSTON. 131 

Yet there are graves, whose rudely-shapen sod 
Bears the fresh footprints where the sexton trod, 
Graves where the verdure has not dared to shoot. 
Where the chance wild-flower has not fixed its root. 
Whose slumbering tenants, dead without a name, 
The eternal record shall at length proclaim 
Pure as the holiest in the long array 
Of hooded, mitred, or tiaraed clay. 

The air is hushed ; the street is holy ground ; 
Hark ! The sweet bells renew their welcome 

sound ; 
As, one by one, awakes each silent tongue, 
It tells the turret whence its voice is flung. 

The Chapel,* last of sublunary things 
That shocks our echoes with the name of King's, 
Whose bell, just glistening from the font and forge. 
Rolled its proud requiem for the second George, 
Solemn and swelling, as of old it rang, 
Flings to the wind its deep, sonorous clang ; — 
The simpler pile,f that, mindful of the hour 
When Howe's artillery shook its half-built tower, 
Wears on its bosom, as a bride might do. 
The iron breastpin which the " Rebels " threw, 
Wakes the sharp echoes with the quivering thrill 
Of keen vibrations, tremulous and shrill ; — 

* King's Chapel. t The Church in Brattle Square. 



132 



Aloft, suspended in the morning's fire, 

Crash the vast cymbals from the Southern 

spire ; * — 
The Giant, f standing by the elm-clad green, 
His white lance lifted o'er the silent scene, 
Whirling in air his brazen goblet round. 
Swings from its brim the swollen floods of sound ; — 
While, sad with memories of the olden time, 
The Northern Minstrel J pours her tender chime, 
Faint, single tones, that spell their ancient song. 
But tears still follow as they breathe along. 

Child of the soil, whom fortune sends to range 
Where man and nature, faith and customs, change, 
Borne in thy memory, each remembered tone 
Mourns on the winds that sigh in every zone. 
When Ceylon sweeps thee with her perfumed 

breeze 
Through the warm billows of the Indian seas ; 
When — ship and shadow blended both in one — 
Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun. 
From sparkling midnight to refulgent noon 
Thy canvas swelling with the still monsoon ; 
When through thy shrouds the wild tornado sings. 
And thy poor sea-bird folds her tattered wings. 
Oft wUl delusion o'er thy senses steal. 
And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal I 

* The Old South Church, f Park Street Chureh. J Christ Church. 



LOVE, HOPE, AND FAITH. 133 

Then, dim with grateful tears, in long an-ay 
Rise the fair town, the island-studded bay. 
Home, with its smiling board, its cheering fire, 
The half-choked welcome of the expecting sire, 
The mother's Idss, and, still if aught remain. 
Our whispering hearts shall aid the silent strain. 

Ah, let the dreamer o'er the taffrail lean, 
To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen ; 
Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's chills, 
His heart lies warm among his triple hills I 



LOYE, HOPE, AND FAITH. 

SYLVESTER JUDD. 

Bless, holy Love ! our calm retreat ; 
The lily 's fair, the rose is sweet ; 
Than rose or lily, purer bloom 
The hearts thy grace and power illume. 

O Hope divine ! support our souls ; 
The shadows fall, the thunder rolls ; 
When terror all the land enshrouds, 
With thy blue eye disperse the clouds. 

12 



134 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

The mountain hides us from the East 
In us be living Faith increased ; 
The mountain from its place we fling, 
Or o'er its top our vision wing. 



BISHOP HUBERT. 



BEKN^ARD BARTOX. 



'T IS the hour of even now, 
And with meditative brow. 
Seeking truths as yet unknown. 
Bishop Hubert walks alone. 

Fain would he, with earnest thought. 
Nature's secret laws be taught ; 
Learn the destinies of man. 
And creation's wonders scan. 

And further yet, from these would trace 

Hidden mysteries of grace. 

Dive into the deepest theme. 

Solve redemption's glorious scheme. 

Far he has not roamed, before, 
On the solitary shore. 
He hast found a little child, 
By its seeming play beguiled. 



BISHOP HUBERT. 135 

In the drifted, barren sand 
It has scooped, with baby hand, 
Small recess, in which might float 
Sportive fairy's tiny boat. 

From a hollow shell, the while, 
See, 't is filling, with a smile, 
Pool as shallow as may be 
With the waters of the sea. 

Hear the smiling Bishop ask, 
" What can mean such infant task ? " 
Mark that infant's answer plain, — 
" 'T is to hold yon mighty main." 

" Foolish infant," Hubert cries, 
" Open, if thou canst, thine eyes : 
Can a hollow scooped by thee 
Hope to hold the boundless sea ? " 

Soon that child, on ocean's brim, 
Opes its eyes and turns to him : 
Well does Hubert read its look, 
Glance of innocent rebuke : 

While a voice is heard to say, 
" If the pool, thus scooped in play, 
Cannot hold the mighty sea. 
What must thy researches be ? 



136 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

" Canst thou hope to make thine own 
Secrets known to God alone ? 
Can thy faculty confined 
Compass the Eternal Mind?" 

Bishop Hubert turns away, — 
He has learnt enough to-day. 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 



R. C. TREJTCH. 



I SAY to thee, do thou repeat 

To the first man thou mayest meet 

In lane, highway, or open street, — 

That he, and we, and all men, move 

Under a canopy of love. 

As broad as the blue sky above : 

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain 
And anguish, all are shadows vain ; 
That death itself shall not remain : 

That weary deserts we may tread, 
A dreary labyrinth may thread. 
Through dark ways under ground be led 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 137 

Yet, if we will one Guide obey, 
The dreariest path, the darkest way, 
Shall issue out in heavenly day : 

And we, on divers shores now cast. 
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past. 
All in our Father's house at last. 

And ere thou leave him, say thou this. 
Yet one word more : they only miss 
The winning of that final bliss, 

Who will not count it true that Love, 
Blessing, not cursing, rules above. 
And that in it we live and move. 

And one thing further make him know, — 
That to believe these things are so, 
This firm faith never to forego, 



Despite of all which seems at strife 
With blessing, all with curses rife, - 
That this is blessing, this is life. 



12^ 



138 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



HYMN. 



CHAELES H. A. DALL. 



" As for truth, it endureth and is always strong; it liveth and con- 
quereth for evermore." — 1 Esdras iv. 38. 

Great is the earth, O God ! 

But mightier still is truth ; 
As thou endurest, so it stands 

Strong in eternal youth. 

High is the pure, blue heaven ; 

Truth is as pure and high ; 
All angels bless thy righteousness, 

All men repeat the cry. 

Unerring flies the sun, 

But truth is surer yet ; 
The nations, quickened in its course 

Shall live, ere truth is set. 

Transient are human works, 

Wicked is human thought : 
We perish in unrighteousness 

If truth inspire us not. 

Christ yesterday, to-day, 
For ever, — conquers, lives ; 



EXAGGERATION. 139 

Christ is thy truth and power for aye, 
'Tis Christ thy kingdom gives. 

No truth but is in him, 

He claims no greatness else ; 
The majesty of ages, he 

Comes in the truth he tells. 



EXAGGERATION. 



MRS. BR0W2JING. 



We overstate the ills of life, and take 

Imagination, — given us to bring down 

The choirs of singing angels overshone 

By God's clear glory, — down our earth to rake 

The dismal snows instead; flake following flake, 

To cover all the corn. We walk upon 

The shadow of hills across a level thrown. 

And pant like climbers. Near the alder-brake 

We sigh so loud, the nightingale within 

Kefuses to sing loud, as else she would. 

O brothers ! let us leave the shame and sin 

Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood, 

The holy name of Grief I holy herein. 

That by the grief of One came all our good. 



140 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



THE STRAIGHT ROAD. 

disciples' hymn-book. 

Beauty may be the path to highest good, 
And some successfully have it pursued. 
Thou, who wouldst follow, be well warned to see 
That way prove not a curved road to thee. 
The straightest path perhaps which may be sought 
Lies through the great highway men call I ought. 



GLORY TO GOD ALONE. 

MADA3IE GUYON. 

O Loved ! but not enough, though dearer far 
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are ; 
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free 
From sensual objects, finds his all in thee. 

Glory of God ! thou stranger here below. 
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know ; 
Our faith and reason are both shocked to find 
Man in the post of honor, thee behind. 

My soul, rest happy in thy low estate. 
Nor hope nor wish to be esteemed or great ; 
To take the impression of a Will Divine, 
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine. 



A MEDITATION. 141 

Confess him righteous in his just decrees, 
Love what he loves, and let his pleasures please; 
Die daily ; from the touch of sin recede ; 
Then thou hast crowned him, and he reigns 
indeed. 



A MEDITATION. 



N. L. FROTHIIfGHAJH. 



Too far from thee, O Lord. 
The world is close upon each captured sense ; 
The heart's dear idols never vanish hence ; 
Life's care and labor still are pressing nigh ; 
Its fates and passions hard about me lie ; — 
But Thou art dim behind thine infinite sky, 

O distantly adored ! 

O Lord, too far from thee ! 
Umvinged Time stands ever in my sight. 
Flooding the Past and Now with gloom and light; 
Silent, but busy, constant at my side. 
It shreds away strength, beauty, joy, and pride. 
Eternal I why am I from Thee so wide, 

Nor thy near Presence see ? 

Ne'er languished for as now, 
Now that the hold of Earth feels poor and frail ; 
Now that the cheek of Hope looks thin and pale, 



142 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

And forms of buried love rise ghostly round, 
And dark thoughts struggle on o'er broken ground ; 
Where is thy face, O Father I radiant found 
With mercy on thy brow ? 

I know that not from far. 
Not from abroad, this presence is revealed, — 
To our will denied, and from our wit concealed, 
No search can find Thee, no entreaty bring, — 
Reason a weak. Desert a spotted thing. 
O Spirit, lift me on thy dove-like wing 

To realms that last and Are ! 



THE OCEAN. 



C. p. CRANCH. 



" In a season of calm weather, 
Though inland far we be, 
Our souls have sight of that iDamortal sea 
That brought us hither ; 
Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters roUing evermore." 

Wordsworth. 

Tell me, brother, what are we ? 
Spirits bathing in the sea 

Of Deity! 
Half afloat, and half on land. 
Wishing much to leave the strand. 



THE OCEAN. 143 

Standing, gazing with devotion, 

Yet afraid to trust the ocean, — 

Such are we. 

Wanting love and holiness 
To enjoy the waves' caress ; 
Wanting faith and heavenly hope, 
Buoyantly to bear us up ; 
Yet impatient in our dwelling, 
When we hear the ocean swelling, 
And in every wave that rolls 
We behold the happy souls 
Peacefully, triumphantly, 
Swimming on the smiling sea. 
Then we linger round the shore, 
Lovers of the earth no more. 

Once — 't was in our infancy — 
We were drifted by this sea 
To the coast of human birth. 
To this body and this earth ; 
Gentle were the hands that bore 
Our young spirits to the shore ; 
Gentle lips that bade us look 
Outward from our cradle-nook 
To the spirit-bearing ocean 
With such wonder and devotion. 
As, each stilly Sabbath day. 
We were led a little way. 



144 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

Where we saw the waters swell 
Far away from inland dell. 
And received with grave delight 
Symbols of the Infinite : — 
Then om- home was near the sea ; 
" Heaven was round our infancy " ; — 
Night and day we heard the waves 
Murmuring by us to their caves, — 
Floated in unconscious life, 
With no later doubts at strife, 
Trustful of the Upholding Power, 
Who sustained us hour by hour. 

Now we 've wandered from the shore, 
Dwellers by the sea no more ; 
Yet at times there comes a tone 
Telling of the visions flown. 
Sounding from the distant sea 
Where we left our purity : 
Distant glimpses of the surge 
Lure us down to ocean's verge ; 
There we stand, with vague distress. 
Yearning for the measureless, 
By half-wakened instincts driven. 
Half loving earth, half loving heaven, 
Fearing to put off and swim. 
Yet impelled to turn to Him, 
In whose life we live and move. 
And whose very name is Love. 



SONNET. 145 



Grant me courage, Holy One, 
To become indeed thy son. 
And in thee, thou Parent Sea, 
Live and love eternally. 



SONNET. 



E. C. TRENCH. 



Lord, what a change within us one short hour 
Spent in thy presence will prevail to make, — 
What heavy burdens from our bosoms take. 
What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower! 
We kneel, and all around us seems to lower ; 
We rise, and all, the distant and the near, 
Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear ; 
We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power ! 
Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, 
Or others, that we are not always strong, — 
That we are ever overborne with care, — 
That we should ever weak or heartless be. 
Anxious or troubled, when with us in prayer. 
And joy, and strength, and courage, are with thee? 



13 



146 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 



NEARER TO THEE. 

SARAH F. ADAMS. 

Nearer, my God, to thee, — 

Nearer to thee ! 
E'en though it be a cross 

That raiseth me : 
Still all my song would be, 
Nearer, my God, to thee, — 

Nearer to thee I 

Though like the wanderer. 
The sun gone down, 

Darkness be over me, 
My rest a stone ; 

Yet in my dreams I 'd be 

Nearer, my God, to thee, — 
Nearer to thee ! 

There let the way appear, — 
Steps unto heaven ; 

All that thou sendest me, 
In mercy given : 

Angels to beckon me 

Nearer, my God, to thee, — 
Nearer to thee I 



DESIRES FOR GOD's PRESENCE. 147 

Then with my waking thoughts 

Bright with thy praise, 
Out of my stony griefs 

Bethel I '11 raise ; 
So by my woes to be 
Nearer, my God, to thee, — 

Nearer to thee I 

Or if on joyful wing 

Cleaving the sky. 
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, 

Upwards I fly ; 
Still all my song shall be, 
Nearer, my God, to thee, — 

Nearer to thee ! 



DESmES FOR GOD'S PRESENCE, 



JONES VERY. 



Wilt thou not visit me? 
The plant beside me feels thy gentle dew ; 

Each blade of grass I see 
From thy deep earth its quickening moisture 
drew. 

Wilt thou not visit me ? 
Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone ; 



148 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

And every hill and tree 
Lend but one voice, the voice of thee alone. 

Come ! for I need thy love, 
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain ; 

Come, like thy holy dove. 
And let me in thy sight rejoice to live again. 

Yes ; thou wilt visit me ; 
Nor plant nor tree thy eye delights so well. 

As when, from sin set free, 
Man's spirit comes with thine in peace to dwell. 



GOD KNOWN BY LOVING HBI. 



MADAME GUTOIf. 



'T IS not the skill of human art 

Which gives me power my God to know ; 
The sacred lessons of the heart 

Come not from instruments below. 

Love is my teacher. He can tell 
The wonders that he learnt above ; 

No other master knows so well ; — 
'T is Love alone can tell of Love. 



MATINS. 149 

O, then of God if thou wouldst learn, 
His wisdom, goodness, glory see, 

All human arts and knowledge spurn, 
Let love alone thy teacher be. 

Love is my master. When it breaks. 
The morning light, with rising ray, 

To thee, O God I my spirit wakes. 
And love instructs it all the day. 

And when the gleams of day retire. 
And midnight spreads its dark control, 

Love's secret whispers still inspire 
Their holy lessons in the soul. 



MATINS. 



MRS. H. B. STOWE. 



Still, still with Thee, when purple morning 
breaketh. 

When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee ; 
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight. 

Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee ! 

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows. 
The solemn hush of nature newly born ; 

13* 



150 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration. 
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 

As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean, 
The image of the morning-star doth rest, 

So in this stillness Thou beholdest only 
Thine image in the waters of my breast. 

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, 
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer, 

Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading, 
But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there. 

So shall it be at last in that bright morning 
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee ; 

O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning. 
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee ! 



GOD THE FOUNTAIN OF LOYE TO HIS 
CHILDREN. 



]VLAJ)AME GUYON. 



I LOVE my God, but with no love of mine, 

For I have none to give : 
I love thee. Lord ; but aU the love is thine, 

For by thy life I live. 
I am as nothing, and rejoice to be 
Emptied, and lost, and swallowed up in Thee. 



*'dark the faith of days of yore." 151 

Thou, Lord, alone, art all thy children need, 

And there is none beside ; 
From thee the sti-eams of blessedness proceed ; 

In thee the blest abide ; 
Fountain of life, and all-abounding grace. 
Our source, our centre, and our dwelling-place. 



DAEK THE FAITH OF DAYS OF YORE.' 

ALTERED FROM COLERIDGE. 

fox's collection. 

Dark the faith of days of yore, 
" And at evening evermore 
Did the chanters, sad and saintly, 
Yellow tapers burning faintly. 
Doleful masses chant to thee, 
Miserere, Domine ! " 

Bright the faith of coming days ; 
And when dawn the kindling rays 
Of heaven's golden lamp ascending, 
Happy hearts, and voices blending, 
Joyful anthems chant to thee, 
Te laudamus, Domine ! 



152 MEDITATION, PRAYER, AND PRAISE. 

Night's sad " cadence dies away 
On the yellow, moonlit sea ; 
The boatmen rest their oars, and say, 
JMiserere, Domine I " 

Morn's glad chorus swells alway 
On the azure, sunlit sea ; 
The boatmen ply their oars, and say, 
Te laudamus, Domine ! 



HYMN OF THE CITY. 



W. C. BRYANT. 



Not in the solitude 
Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see 

Only in savage wood. 
Or sunny vale, the present Deity ; 

Or only hear his voice 
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. 

Even here do I behold 
Thy steps, Almighty ! — here, amidst the crowd 

Through the great city rolled, 
With everlasting murmur, deep and loud. 

Choking the ways that wind 
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. 



HYMN OF THE CITY. 153 

Thy golden sunshine comes 
From the round heaven, and on their dwelling 
lies, 

And lights their inner homes ; 
For them thou fill' st with air the unbounded skies, 

And givest them the stores 
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 

Thy spirit is around. 
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along ; 

And this eternal sound, — 
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng, — 

Like the resounding sea. 
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. 

And when the hours of rest 
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, 

Hushing its billowy breast, 
The quiet of that moment, too, is thine ; 

It breathes of Him who keeps 
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. 



PART V. 

ACTIVE DUTY 



ON FOE EVER. 



MRS. li. J. HALL. 



Winds of the sky ! ye hurry by 

On your strong and busy wings, 
And your might is great, and your song is high, 

And true is the tale it sings. 

" On, on, for ever and aye ! 

Kound the whole earth lieth our way : 

On, on, for we may not stay ! " 

Murmuring stream ! like a soft dream 

Goest thou stealing along, 
Pausing not in the shade or gleam, 

And this is thy ceaseless song : 

" On, on, for ever and aye ! 

Down to the deep lieth my way : 

On, for I may not stay I'* 



ON FOR EVER. 155 

Queen of you high and dim blue vault, 

Gliding past many a star, 
'Mid their bright orbs thou dost not halt. 

And a voice comes down from thy car : 

" On, on, for ever and aye ! 

Round the whole earth lieth my way : 

On, for I may not stay!" 

Thoughts of my mind, ye hurry on ; 

Whence ye come 1 may not know, 
But from my soul ye straight are gone. 

In a ceaseless, ceaseless flow. 

" On, on, for ever and aye ! 

By a behest we must obey, 

On, for we may not stay ! " 

Man may not stay ! there is no rest 

On earth for the good man's foot ; 
He should go forth on errands blest, 

And toil for unearthly fruit. 

On, on, for ever and aye ! 

Idle not precious hours away : 

On, for ye may not stay ! 

Sit ye not down in sloth's dark bower, 
Where shades o'er the spirit fall ; 

Pause not to wreathe the sunny flower 
That is worn in pleasure's hall. 



156 ACTIVE DUTY. 

On, on, for ever and aye ! 

Duties spring up along your way : 

Do good, — for ye may not stay ! 



BEAUTY A:ND DUTY. 



THE DIAL. 



I SLEPT, — and dreamed that life was beauty ; 
I woke, — and found that life was duty. 
Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie ? 
Toil on, sad heart, courageously ; 
And thou shalt find thy dream shall be 
A noonday light and truth to thee. 



PROGRESS. 



T. H. GILIi. 



Everlasting ! changing never ! 

Of one strength, no more, no less, 
Thine almightiness for ever, — 

All the same thy holiness : 
Thee eternal. 

Thee aU-glorious, we possess ! 



PROGRESS. 157 

But we weak ones, but we sinners, 
Would not in our poorness stay ; 

We, the low ones, would be winners 
Of what holy height we may, 

Ever nearer 
To thy pure and perfect day. 

Shall things withered, fashions olden. 
Keep us from life's flowing spring ? 

Waits for us the promise golden, — 
Waits each new diviner thing ? 

Onward ! onward ! 
Why this faithless tarrying 2 

By the old aspirants glorious, 

By the hearts that hoped all, 
By the strivers, half-victorious, 

By each soul heroical. 
By thy dearest, 

By thy Milton and thy Paul, — 

By their holy, high achieving. 

By their visions more divine, 
By each gift of our receiving 

From these mighty ones of thine, 
By the radiance 

That on us from them doth shine, — 

By each saving word unspoken. 
By thy truth, as yet half won, 

14 



158 ACTIVE DUTY. 

By each idol still unbroken, 

By thy will, yet poorly done, — 

Hear us ! hear us ! 
Our Almighty, help us on! 

Nearer to thee would we venture, 
Of thy truth more largely take, 

Upon life diviner enter. 

Into day more glorious break ; 

To the ages 
Fair bequests and costly make. 

Ours must be a nobler story 
Than was ever writ before : 

After-comers ! dim our glory ; 

Be your smiles and winnings more ! 

Everlasting ! 
Fuller grace incessant pour ! 



TRUE REST. 

J. S. DWIGHT. 

Sweet is the pleasure 
Itself cannot spoil ! 

Is not true leisure 
One with true toil ? 



TRUE REST. 159 

Thou who wouldst taste it, 

Still do thy best ; 
Use it, not waste it, 

Else 't is no rest. 

Wouldst behold beauty 

Near thee, — all round ? 
Only hath duty 

Such a sight found. 

Rest is not quitting 

The busy career ; 
Rest is the fitting 

Of self to its sphere. 

'T is the brook's motion, 

Clear without strife. 
Fleeing to ocean 

After its life. 

Deeper devotion 

Nowhere hath knelt ; 
Fuller emotion 

Heart never felt. 

'T is loving and serving 

The Highest and Best J 
'T is ONWARDS ! unswerving ; 

And that is true rest. 



160 ACTIVE DUTY. 



AROUSE THEE, SOUL! 

ROBERT NICOLL. 

Arouse thee, soul! 
Be, what thou surely art, 
An emanation from the Deity, — 

A flutter of that heart 
Which fills all nature, sea, and earth and sky 
Arouse thee, soul ! 

Arouse thee, soul ! 
And let the body do 
Some worthy deed for human happiness, 

To join, when life is through. 
Unto thy name, that angels both may bless : 
Arouse thee, soul ! 

Arouse thee, soul ! 
Leave nothings of the earth ; 
And if the body be not strong to dare, 
To blessed thoughts give birth, 
High as yon heaven, pure as heaven's air: 
Arouse thee, soul I 



THE HOURS. 161 



THE HOURS. . 

JONES VERY. 

The minutes have their trusts as they go by, 
To bear His love who wings their viewless 
flight; 
To Him they bear their record as they fly, 

And never from their ceaseless round alight. 
Rich with the life Thou liv'st they come to me : 

O may I all that life to others show, 
That they from strife may rise and rest in Thee, 
And all thy peace in Christ by me may know ! 
Then shall the morning call me from my rest, 
With joyful hope that I thy child may live ; 
And when the evening comes 'twill make me 
blest. 
To know that Thou wilt peaceful slumbers 
give. 
Such as Thou dost to weary laborers send, 
Whose sleep from Thee doth with the dews 
descend. 



u* 



162 ACTIVE DUTY. 



THE FAITHFUL MONK. 

LINES SUGGESTED BY AN ALLUSION IN THE MEMOIR OF 
REV. O. W. B. PEABODY. 

CHAKLES T. BKOOKS. 

Golden gleams of noonday fell 
On the pavement of the cell, 
And the monk still lingered there 
In the ecstasy of prayer : 
Fuller floods of glory streamed 
Through the window, and it seemed 
Like an answering glow of love, 
From the countenance above. 

On the silence of the cell 
Break the faint tones of a bell. 
'T is the hour when at the gate 
Crowds of poor and hungry wait, 
Wan and wistful, to be fed 
With the friar of mercy's bread. 

Hark ! that chime of heaven's far bells ! 
On the monk's rapt ear it swells. 
No ! fond, flattering dream, away ! 
Mercy calls ; no longer stay ! 
Whom thou yearnest here to find 
In the musings of thy mind, 



"not to myself alone." 163 

God and Jesus, lo, they wait 
Knocking at thy convent gate ! 

From his knees the monk arose ; 
With full heart and hand he goes, 
At his gate the poor relieves, 
Gives a blessing, and receives ; 
To his cell returned, and there 
Found the angel of his prayer, 
Who with radiant features said, 
" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled." 



"NOT TO ISIYSELF ALONE." 

SAKGEXT'S SEi^ECTION. 

" Not to myself alone," 
The little opening flower transported cries, — 
'• Not to myself alone I bud and bloom ; 
With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume. 
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. 
The bee comes sipping, every eventide, 

His dainty fill ; 
The butterfly within my cup doth hide 
From threatening ill." 



164 ACTIVE DUTY. 

" Not to myself alone," 
The circling star with honest pride doth boast, — 
" Not to myself alone, I rise and set ; 
I write upon night's coronal of jet 
His power and skill who formed our myriad host ; 
A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, 

I gem the sky. 
That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, 
His home on high." 

" Not to myself alone,'* 
The heavy-laden bee doth mminuring hum, — 
" Not to myself alone, from flower to flower, 
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower, 
And to the hive at evening weary come : 
For man, for man, the luscious food I pile, 

With busy care. 
Content if I repay my ceaseless toil 
With scanty share." 

" Not to myself alone," 
The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings, — 
" Not to myself alone I raise my song ; 
I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, 
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings ; 
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn, 

And God adore ; 
I call the worldling from his dross to turn, 
And sing and soar." 



"not to myself alone." 165 

" Not to myself alone," 
The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way, — 
" Not to myself alone I sparkling glide ; 
I scatter health and life on every side. 
And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay. 
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare, 

My gladsome tune ; 
I sweeten and refresh the languid air 
In droughty June." 

" Not to myself alone " ; — 
O man ! forget not thou — earth's honored priest, 
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart — 
In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part ! 
Chiefest of guests at love's ungrudging feast, 
Play not the niggard ; spurn thy native clod, 

And self disown ; 
Live to thy neighbor ; live unto thy God ; 
Not to thyself alone ! 



166 ACTIVE DUTY. 



FAITH'S ANSWER. 

CAROLINE WHIT3LA.KSH. 

Still, as of old, thy precious word 
Is by the nations dimly heard ; 
The hearts its holiness hath stirred 

Are weak and few. 
Wise men the secret dare not tell ; 
Still in thy temple slumbers well 
Good Eli : O, like Samuel, 

Lord, here am I ! 

Few years, no wisdom, no renown. 
Only my life can I lay down ; 
Only my heart. Lord ! to thy throne 

I bring ; and pray. 
That child of thine I may go forth. 
And spread glad tidings through the earth. 
And teach sad hearts to know thy worth. 

Lord, here am I ! 

Thy messenger, all-loving One! 
The errands of thy truth to run. 
The wisdom of thy holy Son 

To teach and live I 
No purse or scrip, no staff or sword ; — - 
Be pure intent my wings, O Lord ! 



167 



Be innocence my magic word. 
Lord, here am I ! 

Young lips may teach the wise, Christ said ; 
Weak feet sad wanderers home have led ; 
Small hands have cheered the sick one's bed 

With freshest flowers : 
Yet teach me, Father ! heed their sighs, 
While many a soul in darkness lies. 
And waits thy message ; make me wise ! 

Lord, here am I ! 

And make me strong ; that staff and stay, 
And guide and guardian of the way, 
To thee-ward I may bear, each day, 

Some precious soul. 
" Speak ; for I hear I " make " pure in heart," 
Thy face to see. Thy truth impart 
In hut and hall, in church and mart. 

Lord, here am I ! 

I ask no heaven till earth be thine, 
Nor glory -crown while work of mine 
E-emaineth here : when Earth shall shine 

Among the stars. 
Her sins wiped out, her captives free. 
Her voice a music unto thee, 
For crown, new work give thou to me I 

Lord, here am I ! 



168 ACTIVE DUTY. 



EAETH'S ANGELS. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Why come not spirits from the realms of glory, 
To visit earth as in the days of old, — 

The times of sacred writ and ancient story ? 
Is heaven more distant? or has earth grown 
cold? 

Oft have I gazed, when sunset clouds, receding. 
Waved like rich banners of a host gone by. 

To catch the gleam of some white pinion speeding 
Along the confines of the glowing sky. 

And oft, when midnight stars in distant chillness 
Were calmly burning, listened late and long ; 

But nature's pulse beat on in solemn stillness, 
Bearing no echo of the seraphs' song. 

To Bethlehem's air was their last anthem given, 
When other stars before the One grew dim ? 

Was their last presence known in Peter's prison. 
Or where exulting martyrs raised their hymn ? 

And are they all within the veil departed ? 

There gleams no wing along the empyrean now ; 
And many a tear from human eyes has started. 

Since angel touch has calmed a mortal's brow. 



169 



No : earth has angels, though their forms are 
moulded 
But of such clay as fashions all below ; 
Though harps are wanting, and bright pinions 
folded. 
We know them by the love-light on their brow. 

I have seen angels by the sick one's pillow, — 
Theirs was the soft tone and the soundless 
tread ; 
Where smitten hearts were drooping like the wil- 
low. 
They stood " between the weeping and the 
dead." 

And if my sight, by earthly dimness hindered, 
Beheld no hovering cherubim in air, 

I doubted not, for spirits know their kindred, 
They smiled upon the wingless watchers there. 

There have been angels in the gloomy prison, — 
In crowded halls, — by the lone widow's hearth ; 
And where they passed, the fallen have up- 
risen. 
The giddy paused, the mourner's hope had 
bnth. 

I have seen one, whose eloquence commanding 
Roused the rich echoes of the human breast, 

15 



170 ACTIVE DUTY. 

The blandishments of wealth and ease withstand- 
ing 
That hope might reach the suffering and op- 
pressed. 

And by his side there moved a form of beauty, 

Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life, 
And looking up wdth meek and love-lent duty ; 
I called her angel, but he called her wife. 

O, many a spirit walks the world unheeded. 
That, when its veil of sadness is laid down, 

Shall soar aloft with pinions unimpeded. 
And wear its glory like a starry crown I 



"IT PROFITETH THEE NOTHING." 

disciples' HY:M2s-B00K. 

" My child, cleanse thou thy heart ; this daily life 
Of alms and works, how can it profit thee. 

Except low down upon the altar burn 
The hidden fire of holy charity ? 

" Leave here thy deeds, — go seek the inner shrine ; 
There watch, and wait, and pray, and tend thy 
soul, 



" IT PROFITETH THEE NOTHING." 171 

Till comes the grace which gives no outward sign, 
Till heaven and earth are bound to its control !" 

Father, well know I, I have utmost need 

To tend that hidden fire both night and day ; 

But who will warm my cold, my hungry feed. 
While I retire to weep, and watch, and pray? 

Father, before the inmost, stillest shrine 
I hear the echo of that piercing cry. 

And can no more implore the grace divine, 
But turn to serve this poor humanity. 

Father, it may be that my light is small ; 

But I had rather bear the pains that may 
In purgatory my lost soul befall. 

Than leave these ones to faint upon their way. 

" My child, I fear me much thou dost postpone 
God's great eternity to thy low time ; 

But he doth deal with every heart alone. 

And will not judge thy error like thy crime." 



172 ACTIVE DUTY. 

"BEG FROM A BEGGAR." 

" Deark d'on dearka" — Irish Proverb. 

E. M. MLL^TES. 

There is a thought so purely blest 
That to its use I oft repair, 
When evil breaks my spirit's rest. 
And pleasure is but varied care, — 
A thought to gild the stormiest skies. 
To deck with flowers the bleakest moor, - 
A thought whose home is paradise, — 
The charities of Poor to Poor. 

It were not for the rich to blame. 
If they, whom Fortune seems to scorn, 
Should vent their ill-content and shame 
On others less or more forlorn ; 
But that the veriest needs of life 
Should be dispensed with freer hand 
Than all their stores and treasures rife. 
Is not for them to understand. 

To give the stranger's children bread, 
Of your precarious board the spoil, — 
To watch your helpless neighbor's bed. 
And, sleepless, meet the morrow's toil ; — 
The gifts, not proffered once alone, 
The daily sacrifice of years, — 



*' BEG FROM A BEGGAR." 173 

And, when all else to give is gone, 
The precious gifts of love and tears ; — 

What record of triumphant deed, 
What virtue pompously unfurled, 
Can thus refute the gloomy creed 
That parts from God our living world ? 
O Misanthrope ! deny who would, — 
O Moralists ! deny who can, — 
Seeds of almost impossible good, 
Deep in the deepest life of Man. 

Therefore, lament not, honest soul ! 
That Providence holds back from thee 
The means thou might'st so well control, — 
Those luxuries of charity. 
Manhood is nobler, as thou art ; 
And, should some chance thy coffers fill, 
How art thou sure to keep thine heart, 
To hold unchanged thy loving will ? 

Wealth, like all other power, is blind. 
And bears a poison in its core, 
To taint the best, if feeble, mind, 
And madden that debased before. 
It is the battle, not the prize. 
That fills the hero's breast with joy ; 
And industry the bliss supplies, 
Which mere possession might destroy. 

15* 



174 ACTIVE DUTY. 

FROM "THE ISIEN OF OLD." 

J. G. WHITTIEE. 

Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast ! 
Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, 
If with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart. 
Thou tread' st the solemn Pantheon of the Past, 
By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind 
To all the beauty, power, and truth behind. ■ 
Not without reverent awe should st thou put by 
The cypress branches and the amaranth blooms, 
"Where, with clasped hands of prayer, upon 
their tombs 
The effigies of old confessors he, 
God's witnesses, — the voices of his will. 
Heard in the slow march of the centuries still ! 
Such were the men at whose rebuking frown, 
Dark with God's wrath, the tyrant's knee went 

down ; 
Such from the terrors of the guilty drew 
The vassal's freedom and the poor man's due. 
St. Anselm (may he rest for evermore 

In Heaven's sweet peace !) forbade, of old, the 

sale 
Of men as slaves, and from the sacred pale 
Hurled the Northumbrian buyers of the poor. 
To ransom souls from bonds and evil fate, 
St. Ambrose melted down the sacred plate, — 



ALMSGIVING. 175 

Image of saint, the chalice and the pix, 
Crosses of gold, and silver candlesticks. 
" Man is worth more than temples!" he replied 
To such as came his holy work to chide. 
And brave Cesarius, stripping altars bare, 

And coining from the Abbey's golden hoard 
The captive's freedom, answered to the prayer 

Or threat of those whose fierce zeal for the Lord 
Stifled their love of man, — " An earthen dish 

The last sad supper of the Master bore : 
Most miserable sinners ! do ye wish 

More than your Lord, and grudge his dying 
poor 
What your own pride, and not his need, requires ? 

Souls than these shining gauds he values 
more ; 
Mercy, not sacrifice, his heart desires ! " 



ALMSGIVING. 
(an extract.) 

E. M. MILNES. 



When Poverty, with mien oi shame, 
The sense of Pity seeks to touch, — 
Or, bolder, makes the simple claim 
That I have nothing, you have much, 



176 ACTIVE DUTY. 

Believe not either man or book 
That bids you close the opening hand, 
And with reproving speech or look 
Your first and free intent withstand. 

It may be that the tale you hear 
Of pressing wants and losses borne 
Is heaped or colored for your ear, 
And tatters for the purpose worn ; 
But surely Poverty has not 
A sadder need than this, — to wear 
A mask still meaner than her lot. 
Compassion's scanty food to share. 

It may be that you err to give 
What will but tempt to further spoil 
Those who in low content would live 
On theft of others' time and toil ; 
Yet sickness may have broke or bent 
The active frame or vigorous will, — 
Or hard occasion may prevent 
Their exercise of humble skill. 

It may be that the suppliant's life 
Has lain on many an evil way 
Of foul delight and brutal strife, 
And lawless deeds that shun the day ; 
But how can any gauge of yom's 
The depth of that temptation tiy ? 



177 



What man resists, what man endures, 
Is open to one only eye. 

Why not believe the homely letter. 
That all you give will God restore ? 
The poor man viaij deserve it better. 
And surely, surely wants it more: 
Let but the rich man do his part, 
And whatsoe'er the issue be 
To those who ask, his answering heart 
Will gain and grow in sympathy. 



FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



H. W. LONGFELI.O-SV. 



The Chapel. — Vespers ; after which the monks retire y a 
chorister leading an old monk who is blind. 



PRINCE HENRY. 



TnEY are all gone, save one who lingers, 
Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. 
As if his heart could find no rest. 
At times he beats his heaving breast 
With clenched and convulsive fingers. 
Then lifts them trembling in the air. 



178 ACTIVE DUTY. 

A chorister, with golden hair, 

Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 

Can it be so ? Or does my sight 

Deceive me in the uncertain light ? 

Ah no ! I recognize that face. 

Though Time has touched it in his flight, 

And changed the aubm-n hair to white. 

It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 

The deadliest foe of aU our race, 

And hateful unto me and mine ! 

THE BLIXD MONK. 

Who is it that doth stand so near 
His whispered words I almost hear ? 

PRINCE HEXRY. 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! 
I know you, and I see the scar. 
The brand upon your forehead, shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 

THE BLESTD MOXK. 

Count Hugo once, but now the wreck 

Of what I was. O Hoheneck ! 

The passionate will, the pride, the wrath, 

That bore me headlong on my path, 

Stumbled and staggered into fear, 

And failed me in my mad career, 

As a tired steed some evil-doer, 



FROM " THE GOLDEN LEGEND." 179 

Alone upon a desolate moor, 

Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, 

And hearing loud and close behind 

The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. 

Then suddenly from the dark there came 

A voice that called me by my name. 

And said to me, " Kneel down and pray ! " 

And so my terror passed away, 

Passed utterly away for ever. 

Contrition, penitence, remorse. 

Came on me with o'erwhelming force ; 

A hope, a longing, an endeavor. 

By days of penance and nights of prayer. 

To frustrate and defeat despair ! 

Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, 

With tranquil waters overflowed ; 

A lake whose unseen fountains start, 

Where once the hot volcano glowed. 

And you, O Prince of Hoheneck ! 

Have known me in that earlier time, 

A man of violence and crime. 

Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. 

Behold me now, in gentler mood. 

One of this holy brotherhood. 

Give me your hand ; here let me kneel ; 

Make your reproaches sharp as steel ; 

Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek ; 

No violence can harm the meek. 

There is no wound Christ cannot heal I 



180 ACTIVE DUTY. 

Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take 
Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek ; 
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 

PRINCE HEXRY. 

Arise, Count Hugo ! let there be 

No farther strife nor enmity 

Between us twain ; we both have erred I 

Too rash in act, too wroth in word. 

From the beginning we have stood 

In fierce, defiant attitude. 

Each thoughtless of the other's right, 

And each reliant on his might. 

But now our souls are more subdued ; 

The hand of God, and not in vain. 

Has touched us with the fire of pain. 

Let us kneel down, and side by side 

Pray, till our souls are purified. 

And pardon will not be denied ! 

Tliey kneel. 



THE SECRET OF PIETY. 181 

THE SECRET OF PIETY. 

AV. R. ALGER'S " POETRY OF THE EAST." 

A PINING sceptic towards a raptured saint in- 
clined, 
And asked him how the Boundless Lover, God, 

to find. 
A smile divine across the saint's pale features 

stole, 
And thus in wise and pitying love he poured his 

soul: 
*^ Ah, hapless wanderer ! long from life's true 

bliss shut out, 
In night of sin forlorn and wilderness of doubt, 
Prepared am I with thy sad lot to sympathize, 
For o'er my own dim tracks thy dark experience 

lies. 
Now list and ponder deep, the secret while I tell 
Of all the love with which angelic bosoms swell. 
Whoso would careless tread one worm that crawls 

the sod. 
That cruel man is darkly alienate from God ; 
But he that lives, embracing all that is, in love. 
To dwell with him God bursts all bounds, below, 

above." 

16 



182 ACTIVE DUTY. 



FROM "THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL." 

J. K. LO"\VELIi. 

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 

For another heir in his earldom sate : 

An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; * 

Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 

But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 

The badge of the suffering and the poor. 

Sir LaunfaPs raiment thin and spare 

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 

For it was just at the Christmas time: 

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 

In the light and warmth of long ago ; 

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small. 

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one. 

He can count the camels in the sun, 

As over the red-hot sands they pass 

To where, in its slender necklace of grass. 

The little spring laughed and leaped in the shade, 

• * The vessel used by the Saviour at the Last Supper. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 183 

And with its own self like an infant played, 
And waved its signal of palms. 

" For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms " ; — 

The happy camels may reach the spring, 

But Sir Launfal sees naught save the grewsome 

thing, ^ 
The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone. 
That cowered beside him, a thing as lone 
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 
In the desolate horror of his disease. 

And Sir Launfal said : " I behold in thee 
An image of Him who died on the tree ; 
Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, — 
Thou also hast had the world's buffets and 

scorns, — 
And to thy life were not denied 
The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 
Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; 
Behold, through him, I give to thee I " 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 

Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
He had flung an alms to leprosie, 

When he caged his young life up in gilded mail, 

And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 

The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 



184 ACTIVE DUTY. 

He parted in twain his single crust, 

He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 

And gave the leper to eat and drink ; 

'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 

'T was water out of a wooden bowl, — 
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 

And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty 
soul. 

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place ; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side. 

But stood before him glorified, 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 

Himself the Gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the 

pine, 
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the 

brine, 
Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 
And the voice that was calmer than silence said : 
" Lo, it is I, be not afraid I 
In many climes, without avail. 
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 
Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 



A PRAYER OF AFFECTION. 185 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 

This crust is my body broken for thee, 

This water His blood that died on the tree ; 

The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In whatso we share with another's need, — 

Not that which we give, but what we share. 

For the gift ^yithout the giver is bare ; 

Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, — 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." 



A PRAYER OF AFFECTION 



MRS. HEMANS. 



Blessings, O Father, shower! 
Father of mercies I round his precious head ! 
On his lone walks, and on his thoughtful hour. 
And the pure visions of his midnight bed. 

Blessings be shed ! 

Father ! I pray thee not 
For earthly treasure to that inost beloved, 
Fame, fortune, power ; — O, be his spirit proved 
By these, or by their absence, at thy will ! 
But let thy peace be wedded to his lot. 
Guarding his inner life from touch of ill. 

With its dove-pinion still ! 

16* 



186 ACTIVE DUTY. 

Let such a sense of Thee, 
Thy watching presence, thy sustaining love, 
His bosom guest inalienably be, 

That, wheresoe'er he move, 

A heavenly light serene 

Upon his heart and mien 
May sit undimmed ! a gladness rest, his own. 
Unspeakable, and to the world unknown I 
Such as from childhood's morning land of dreams 

Remembered faintly gleams, 
Faintly remembered, and too swiftly flown ! 

So let him walk with Thee, 

Made by thy spirit free ; 
And when thou call'st him from his mortal place, 
To his last hour be still that sweetness given. 
That joyful trust! and brightly let him part, 
With lamp clear burning, and unlingering heart, 

Mature to meet in heaven 

His Saviour's face ! 



" HE FOR GOD ONLY, SHE FOR GOD Ix\ HIM.'' 187 



" HE FOR GOD ONLY, SHE FOR GOD IN HBl. 

MRS. CAKOLIXE GILilAX. 

When Pleasure gilds thy passing hours, 
And Hope enwreathes her fairy flowers, 
And Love appears with playful hand 
To steal from Time his falling sand, 
O, then I '11 smile with thee. 

When nature's beauties bless thy sight, 
And yield a thrill of soft delight, 
When morning glories greet thy gaze, 
Or evening twilight still delays, 

Then I '11 admu-e wdth thee. 

When the far-clustering stars unroll 
Their bannered lights from pole to pole, 
Or when the moon glides queenly by, 
Looking in silence on thine eye, 

I '11 gaze on heaven with thee. 

When Music with her unsought lay 
Awakes the household holiday, 
Or Sabbath notes in concert sti'ong 
Lift up the secret wings of song, 

I '11 sing those strains with thee. 



188 ACTIVE DUTY. 

But should Misfortune, hovering nigh, 
Wrest from thy aching heart the sigh, 
Or, with an aspect chill and drear. 
Despondence draw the unbidden tear, 
O, then I '11 weep with thee. 

Should Poverty with withering hand 
Wave o'er thy head his care-wrought wand, 
And ope within thy soul the void 
That haunts a mind with hope destroyed, 
I '11 share that pang with thee. 

When youth and youthful pleasures fly, 
And earth is fading on thine eye, 
When life has lost its early charm, 
And all thy wish is holy calm, 

I '11 love that calm with thee. 

And when unerring death, at last, 
Comes rushing on time's fatal blast, 
And naught (not e'en my love) can save 
Thy form from the encroaching grave, 
I '11 share that grave with thee. 

And when thy spirit soars above, 
Wrapt in the foldings of God's love, 
Is it too much to ask of Heaven, 
That some low seat may there be given. 
Where I can bow near thee ? 



THE YOUNG TEACHERS. 189 



THE YOUNG TEACHERS. 



The world throws wide its brazen gates ; 

With thee we enter in ; 
O grant us, in our humble sphere, 

To free that world*from sin ! 

We have one mind in Christ our Lord 

To stand and point above ; 
To hurl rebuke at social wrong ; 

But all, O God, in love. 

The star is resting in the sky ; 

To worship Christ we came ; 
The moments haste ; O touch our tongues 

With thy celestial flame ! 

The truest worship is a life ; 

All dreaming we resign ; 
We lay our offerings at thy feet, — 

Our lives, O Christ, are thine ! 



190 ACTIVE DUTY. 



LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING CHARLESTON 
FOR THE SEASON. 

1820. 

SAMUEL OILMAN. 

Farewell, awhile, thou hospitable spot ! 

Farewell, my own adopted dwelling-place ! 
Scene of my future consecrated lot. 

And destined circuit of my earthly race. 

Farewell, ye friends, who hung so long and true. 
With sleepless care, around my fevered bed, 

And ye from whom a stranger's title drew 
Profuse attentions, delicately shed. 

Yet why a stranger ? since no other home 
Remains for me ; e'en now, depressed, I fly 

For the last time through youthful haunts to roam, 
And snatch the breezes of my native sky. 

Yes, dear New England! help me from thy breast 
To wean these childish yearnings ere we part ; 

Help me these cords to snap, these ties to WTest, 
So wound, and stamped, and woven in my 
heart. 

A few more bounds along thy rocky shore, 

A few more pensive walks among thy streams, 



THE WAN REAPERS. 191 

A few more greetings from dear friends of yore, 
A few more dreams, and then — no more of 
dreams. 

Come, sacred, solid duty ! at thy call 
My cheerful will submissively shall flow, 

So thou, great Source of strength and light to all, 
Lead me the awful way my feet must go. 

Teach me to bear the Christian herald's part. 
To set the slaves of sin and error free. 

To guide each doubting, soothe each aching heart, 
And draw a listening, willing flock to Thee I 



THE WAN REAPERS. 



MRS. EMILY C. JUDSOK. 



1 CAME from a land where a beautiful light 
Is slow creeping o'er hill-top and vale, 

"Where broad is the field, and the harvest is white, 
But the reapers are haggard and pale. 

All wasted and worn with their wearisome toil, 
Still they pause not, that brave little band. 

Though soon their low pillows must be the strange 
soil 
Of that distant and grave-dotted strand. 



192 



ACTIVE DUTY. 



For dangers uncounted are clustering there, 
The pestilence stalks uncontrolled, 

Strange poisons are borne on the soft, languid air, 
And lurk in each leafs fragrant fold. 

There the rose never blooms on fair woman's wan 
cheek. 
But there 's beautiful light in her eye, 
And the smile that she wears is so loving and 
meek, , 
None can doubt it came down from the sky. 

There the strong man is bowed in his youth's 
golden prime. 
But he cheerily sings at his toil, 
For he thinks of his sheaves, and the garnering 
time 
Of the glorious Lord of the soil. 

And ever they turn, that brave, wan little band, 
A long, wistful gaze on the West : 

" Do they come, do they come from that dear dis- 
tant land, — 
That land of the lovely and blest ? 

" Do they come ? Do they come ? Oh ! we 're 
feeble and wan. 

And we 're passing like shadows away ; 
But the harvest is white, and lo ! yonder the dawn ! 

For laborers, — for laborers, we pray ! '* 



HENRY MARTYN AT SHIRAZ. 193 



HENRY MARTYN AT SHIRAZ. 

HENRY ALFORD. 

A VISION of the bright Shiraz, of Persian bards 
the theme : 

The vine with bunches laden hangs o'er the crys- 
tal stream, 

The nightingale all day her notes in rosy thickets 
trills, 

And the brooding heat-mist faintly lies along the 
distant hills. 

About the plain are scattered wide, in many a 
crumbling heap. 

The fanes of other days, and tombs where Iran's 
poets sleep. 

And in the midst, like burnished gems in noon- 
day light, repose 

The minarets of bright Shiraz, the city of the rose. 

One group beside the river bank in rapt discourse 

are seen. 
Where hangs the golden orange on its boughs of 

purest green ; 
Their words are sweet and low, and their looks 

are lit with joy ; 
Some holy blessing seems to rest on them and 

their employ. 
17 



194 



ACTIVE DUTY. 



The pale-faced Frank among them sits ; what 

brought him from afar ? 
Nor bears he bales of merchandise, nor teaches 

skill in war ; 
One pearl alone he brings with him, — the Book 

of life and death ; 
One warfare only teaches he, — to fight the fight 

of faith. 

And Iran's sons are round him; and one with 

solemn tone 
Tells how the Lord of glory was reje.cted by his 

own, 
Tells, from the wondrous Gospel, of the trial and 

the doom. 
The words divine of love and might, the scourge, 

the cross, the tomb. 

Far sweeter to the stranger's ear those Eastern 
accents sound 

Than music of the nightingale, that fills the air 
around ; 

Lovelier than balmiest odors sent from gardens 
of the rose. 

The fragrance from the contrite soul and chas- 
tened lip that flows. 

The nightingales have ceased to sing, the rose's 
leaves are shed. 

The Frank's pale face in Tocat's field hath moul- 
dered with the dead; 



HENRY MARTYN AT SHIRAZ. 195 



Alone and all unfriended, 'midst his Master's work 

he fell, 
With none to bathe his fevered brow, with none 

his tale to tell. 



But still those sweet and solemn tones about him 
sound in bliss ; 

And fragrance from those flowers of God for ever- 
more is his ; 

For his the meed, by grace, of those who, rich in 
zeal and love, 

Turn many unto righteousness, and shine as stars 
above. 



PART YI. 

PENITENCE 



DE PEOFUNDIS CLAJ^IAVL 



C. G. FEXNEE. 



Up from the deeps, O God, I cry to thee I 

Hear the soul's prayer, hear thou her litany, 

O thou who say'st, " Come, wanderer, home to 



Up from the deeps of sorrow, wherein lie 
Dark secrets veiled from earth's unpitying eye. 
My prayers, like star-crowned angels, God-ward 

fly- 

Up from the deeps of joy, deep tides that swell 
"With fulness that the heart can never tell. 
Thanks shall ring clear as rings a festal bell. 



DE PKOFUNDIS CLAMAVI. 197 

From the calm bosom when in quiet hour 
God's holy spirit reigns with largest power, 
Then shall each thought in prayer's white blos- 
som flower. 

From the dark mine, where slow Thought's dia- 
mond burns. 
Where the Gold-spirits vein their rugged urns, 
From that grim Cyclop-forge my spirit turns, 

And gazes upward at thy clear blue sky, 
And 'midst the light that floods it does espy 
Bright stars unseen by superficial eye. 

Where Sin's Red Dragons lie in caverns deep. 
And glare with stony eyes that never sleep, 
And o'er the Heavenly Fruit strict ward do keep ; 

Thence my poor heart, long struggling to get free, 
Torn by the strife, in painful agony 
Crieth, O God, my God, deliver me I 

Up from the thickest tumult of the game, 
Where spring Life's arrows with unerring aim, 
My shaft of prayer, Acestes' like, shall flame. 

Not from life's shallows, where the waters sleep, 
A dull low marsh, where stagnant vapors creep. 
But ocean-voiced, deep calling unto deep, 

17* 



198 PENITENCE. 

As he of old, King David, called to thee, 
As cries the heart of poor Humanity, 
" Clamavi, Domine, exaudi me I " 



A LITANY. 



MATTHEW AKNOLD. 



Thou, who dost dwell alone, — 
Thou, who dost know thine own, • 
Thou, to whom all are known 
From the cradle to the grave, — 
Save, O save ! 

From the world's temptations ; 
From tribulations ; 
From that fierce anguish 
Wherein we languish ; 
From that torpor deep 
' Wherein we lie asleep, 
Heavy as death, cold as the grave, 
Save, O save! 

When the Soul, growing clearer, 
Sees God no nearer ; 
When the Soul, mounting higher, 
To God comes no nigher ; 



A LITANY. 

But the arch-fiend Pride 
Mounts at her side, 
Foiling her high emprise, 
Sealing her eagle eyes, 
And, when she fain would soar, 
Makes idols to adore ; 
Changing the pure emotion 
Of her high devotion 
To a skin-deep sense 
Of her own eloquence ; 
Strong to deceive, strong to enslave, — 
Save, O save ! 

From the ingrained fashion 
Of this earthly nature 
That mars thy creature, 
From grief that is but passion, 
From mirth that is but feigning, 
From tears that bring no healing. 
From wild and weak complaining, 
Thine own strength revealing, 
Save I O save ! 

From doubt where all is double. 
Where wise men are not strong, 
"Where comfort turns to trouble. 
Where just men suffer wrong. 
Where sorrow treads on joy, 
Where sweet things soonest cloy. 



199 



200 PENITENCE. 

Where faiths are built on dust, 
Where love is half mistrust, 
Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea, 
O set us free ! 

O let the false dream fly- 
Where our sick souls do lie 
Tossing continually. 
O where thy voice doth come, 
Let all doubts be dumb ; 
Let all words be mild. 
All strifes be reconciled. 
All pains beguiled ; 
Light brings no blindness, 
Love no unkindness, 
Knowledge no ruin, 
Fear no undoing. 
From the cradle to the grave. 
Save, O save I 



THE SPREADING SPECK. 

W. R. ALGER'S '* POETRY OF THE EAST." 

On every human soul there lies 
A little dusky speck of sin, 
As small as a mote's eye in size : 
But when that speck doth once begin 



LINES. 201 

To work, it swift and swift extends, 

Till the whole soul it comprehends. 

And all its powers overclouds 

With condemnation's thunder-shrouds. 

Then fierce and far the fear-fires flash, 

And dire and dread the doom-bolts dash. 

Thus doth the sin-speck spread, in sight, 

O'er all the soul a baleful night, — 

A blotting night of horror deep. 

That knows no dawn and knows no sleep I 



LINES 



H. -WAKE, JR. 



It is not what my hands have done. 

That weighs my spirit down. 
That casts a shadow o'er the sun, 

And over earth a frown ; 
It is not any heinous guilt, 

Or vice by men abhorred ; 
For fair the fame that T have built, 

A fair life's just reward ; 
And men would wonder if they knew 
How sad I feel with sins so few. 



202 PENITENCE. 

Alas ! they only see in part, 

When thus they judge the whole ; 
They cannot look upon the heart, 

They cannot read the soul; 
But I survey myself withm, 

And mournfully I feel 
How deep the principle of sin 

Its root may there conceal, 
And spread its poison through the frame. 
Without a deed that men can blame. 

They judge by actions which they see 

Brought out before the sun ; 
But conscience brings reproach to me 

For what I 've left undone, — 
For opportunities of good 

Li folly thrown away, 
For hours misspent in solitude, 

Forgetfulness to pray, — 
And thousand more omitted things. 
Whose memory fills my breast with stings. 

And therefore is my heart oppressed 
With thoughtfuhiess and gloom ; 

Nor can I hope for perfect rest, 
Till I escape this doom. 

Help me, thou Merciful and Just, 
This fearful doom to fly ; 



A SUPPLICATION. 203 

Thou art my strength, my hope, my trust; — 

O help me lest I die I 
And let my full obedience prove 
The perfect power of faith and love. 



A SUPPLICATION. 



F. D. HUXTIXGTOX. 



Love Divine! lay on me burdens, if thou wilt ; 
Burdens to break in mercy my fond, feverish 

sleep ; 
Turn comforts into awful prophets to my guilt ; 
Let me but at thy wondrous footstool faU and 

weep! 

Visit and change, uplift, ennoble, recreate me ! 
Ordain whatever masters in thy saving school ; 
Let the whole eager host of Fashion's votaries 

hate me, 
So thou wilt henceforth guide me by thy loving 

rule. 

1 pray not. Lord, to be redeemed from mortal 

sorrow ; 
Redeem me only from my vain and mean self- 
love ; 



204 PENITENCE. 

Then let each night of grief lead in a mourning 

morrow, 
Fear shall not shake my trust in Thee, — my 

Peace above. 

Yet while the Resurrection waves its signs au- 
gust; 

Like morning's dewy banners on a cloudless sky. 

My weak feet cling enamored to the parching 
dust. 

And- on the sand poor pebbles lure my roving 
eye. 

Ye witnesses of silent, sad Gethsemane, — 
That shaded garden whence light breaks for all 

our earth, — 
Around my anguish let your faithful influence 

^ be! 
Ye prayers and sighs divine, be my immortal 
birth! 

Vales of repentance mount to hills of high de- 
sire ; 

Seven times seven suffering years earn the sab- 
batic rest ; 

Earth's fickle, cruel lap — alternate frost and 
fire — 

Tempers beloved disciples for the Master's 
breast. 



A SUPPLICATION. 205 

O Way for all that live ! heal us by pain and loss ; 
Fill all our years with toil, and bless us with thy 

rod. 
Thy bonds bring wider freedom ; climbing, by the 

cross. 
Wins that brave height where looms the city of 

our God! 

O Sunshine, rising ever on our nights of sadness ! 

O Best of all our good, and Pardoner of our sin! 

Look down with pity on our unbelieving mad- 
ness! 

To heaven's great welcome take us, homesick 
pilgrims, in ! 

Spirit that overcame the world's long tribulation ! 

Try faltering faith, and make it firm through 
much enduring; 

Feed weary hearts with patient hopes of thy sal- 
vation ; 

Make strait submission, more than luxury's ease, 
alluring. 

Hallow our wit with prayer ; our mastery steep 
in meekness ; 

Pour on our study inspiration's holy light ; 

Hew out, for Christ's dear Church, a future with- 
out weakness. 

Quarried from thine eternal Beauty, Order, Might! 

18 



206 iPENITENCJB. 

Met there, mankind's great brotherhood of souls 
and powers, 

Raise thou full praises from its farthest corners 
dim ; 

Pour down, O steadfast Sun ! thy beams on all 
its towers ; 

Roll through its world-wide spaces Faith's ma- 
jestic hymn. 

Come, age of God's own Truth, after man's age 

of fables ! 
Seed sown in Eden, yield the nation's healing 

tree ! 
Ebal and Sinai, Mamre's tent, the Hebrew tables, 
All look towards Olivet, and bend to Calvary. 

Fold of the tender Shepherd ! rise, and spread ! 
Arch o'er our frailty roofs of everlasting strength ! 
Be all the body gathered to its living Head ! 
Wanderers we faint : O let us find our Lord at 
length ! 



A HYMN. 207 



A HYMN. 

O. W. WITHINGTON. 

If, ill its song to Thee, my hand alone 

Hath touched the harp, (my heart forgetting 
Thee,) — 
If other feelings have inspired its tone 

Than such as thou might'st well approve in 
me, — 

give me grace, that when I wake again 
Its chord, my soul may mingle in the strain ! 

1 have been cold : O warm my heart, and stir 

Its better thoughts ! I have been vain : renew 
In me the feelings of a worshipper. 

Whose spirit longs to be more just and true. 
Erring and weak, — Thou canst alone impart 
Joy to my soul and sunshine to my heart. 



208 PENITENCE. 

THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL. 

C. G. FEN>TEK. 

" That good thinketh, good may do, 
And God will help him thar to." 

Castel of Love. 1250. 

In the ruined Hall of Life, 

Plunged in deep remorse, I sit ; 
Rent and shattered is the roof, 

Trembling to its fall is it ; 
In rank, wild luxuriance 

Has the ivy Habit clung 
Round those mouldering buttresses. 

And those ruined towers among. 

Shattered strength and falling tower, — 

Saints^ once honored, now defaced, — 
Streams the night-wind drear and cold 

Where the shrine of old was placed. 
O thou stern and awful wreck. 

Desolate and waste and wild ! 
A callous man I stand again 

Where once I knelt a pure young child. 

And a dark and cowled form, 
Slow, unmoving, sits and sighs : 

Veiled its face, — I only see 

Those earnest, dark, and mournful eyes. 

Visitant, I know thy name ; 
Deep within my inmost heart 



THE SHRINE AND THE CONFESSIONAL. 209 

Thrills the pang that tells too well, 
Thou the Avenging Angel art. 

While I gaze, the bitter tears 

Scalding fall from straining eyes ; 
Dread and anguish, startling fears. 

With the past stern memories rise. 
I am sinful, frail, and weak, 

O my God, a child of dust ! 
I have sinned ; O Spirit pure, 

Help me, for in thee I trust! 



See that veiled form arise, — 

Back the gloomy cowl she throws ! 
Gentler beam those sad, soft eyes ; 

From those lips how gently flows 
Soothing speech of soothing power : 

** INIortal, dread me not, but hear ; 
The Angel of Repentance, I 

Bid thee look up, and never fear. 

" Leave this ruined shrine, depart ; 

Upward, onward, lies thy way ; 
Upward, with a cheerful heart. 

Onward, for 't is breaking day. 
Thou hast dwelt in night too long ; 

List those cheering notes, nor stay ; 
Hear the angels' morning song 

Bidding thee to duty's way." 

18* 



210 PENITENCE. 

Now the ruined hall is left 



On life's highway glad I stand ; 
Behind me lies the desert waste. 

With free heart and ready hand 
Now I grasp my pilgrim staff; 

Journey on, nor look behind, 
Upward, onward, o'er the hills, 

.Till my home in God I find I 



HYIklN AND PRAYER. 



J. F. CLARKE. 



Infinite Spirit ! who art round us ever, 

In whom we float, as motes in summer sky, 

May neither life nor death the sweet bond sever. 
Which joins us to our unseen Friend on high. 

Unseen, — yet not unfelt, — if any thought 
Has raised our mind from earth, or pure desire, 

A generous act, or noble purpose brought. 
It is thy breath, O Lord, which fans the fire. 

To me, the meanest of thy creatures, kneeling. 
Conscious of weakness, ignorance, sin, and 
shame, 



HYMN AND PRAYER. 211 

Give such a force of holy thought and feeling, 
That I may live to glorify thy name ; 

That I may conquer base desire and passion, 
That I may rise o'er selfish thought and will, 

O'ercome the world's allurement, threat, and 
fashion, 
Walk humbly, softly, leaning on thee still. 

I am unworthy. — Yet for their dear sake 
I ask, whose roots planted in me are found. 

For precious vines are propped by rudest stake, 
And heavenly roses fed in darkest ground. 

Beneath my leaves, though early fallen and faded, 
Young plants are warmed, they drink my 
branches' dew. 
Let them not. Lord, by me be Upas-shaded ; 
Make me for their sake firm, and pure, and 
true. 

For their sake too, the faithful, wise, and bold, 
Whose generous love has been my pride and 
stay. 

Those who have found in me some trace of gold, 
For their sake purify my lead and clay. 

And let not all the pains and toil be wasted. 
Spent on my youth by saints now gone to rest, 



212 PENITENCE. 

Nor that deep sorrow my Redeemer tasted 
When on his soul the guilt of man was pressed. 

Tender and sensitive, he braved the storm, 
That we might fly a well-deserved fate, 

Poured out his soul in supplication warm, 

Looked with his eyes of love on eyes of hate. 

Let all this goodness by my mind be seen, 
Let all this mercy on my heart be sealed ; 

Lord, if thou wilt, thy power can make me clean I 
O speak the word, — thy servant shall be 
healed ! 



A IMEDITATION. 

CHARLES J. FOX.* 



" O FOR some special Providence ! 

O for some miracle ! " 
Thus cry our ingrate hearts, nor feel. 

Father ! thou lov'st us well ; 
Thou giv'st the seasons in their course. 

The rain and sweet sunshine ; 
And air, and food, and light, and life. 

Are constant gifts of thine. 

* Of Nashua, N. H. These verses were written a few dp.ys before 
his death. 



A MEDITATION. 213 

When health is bounding in each vein, 

And vigor nerves each limb, 
On the praise-altar of our hearts 

How soon the fire grows dim ! 
But when come sickness and distress. 

And human aid is vain, 
At once we light the incense-cup. 

And kneel to God again. 

When all the friends we love the most 

Return our hearts' caress, 
And life is full of joy and hope, — 

Then we forget to bless : 
But if some loved one pines, and Death 

Seems hovering in the air, 
O, how we wrestle for his life, 

W^ith fasting and with prayer ! 

When fortune wears a smiling face. 

And all is sunny-hued. 
When all around we see no cloud. 

How weak our gratitude ! 
But if misfortune's storm beats fierce 

On our devoted breasts. 
We strive until by penitence 

God's rainbow on us rests. 



T is ever thus ; — God's daily gifts 
Wake but a feeble lay ; 



214 PENITENCE. 

We feel not, know not, how to prize, 

Till they have passed away. 
Then, then, too late, we see Heaven's glow 

Upon their upward track, 
And find that angels have been here. 

And try to hold them back. 

Lord ! if thou wert not perfect love, 

How could we be forgiven ? 
Scarce greater sin was his who fell, 

The Morning Star, from heaven ; 
Keep us from* such ingratitude, 

While pilgrims here we roam. 
Till thou shalt send thine ansrel down 

To guide our spirits home ! 



HYJMN IN SICKNESS. 



H. WAEE, JK. 



Father, thy gentle chastisement 
Falls kindly on my burdened soul; 

I see its merciful intent. 

To warn me back to thy control ; 

And pray, that, while I kiss the rod, 

I may find perfect peace with God. 



THE PILGRIM AT HEAVEn's GATE. 215 

The errors of my heart I know ; 

I feel my deep infirmities ; 
For often virtuous feelings glow, 

And holy purposes arise, 
But, like the morning clouds, decay, 
As empty, though as fair, as they. 

Forgive the weakness I deplore ; 

And let thy peace abound in me. 
That I may trust my heart no more, 

But wholly cast myself on thee. 
O let my Father's strength be mine, 
And my devoted life be thine ! 



THE PILGRBI AT HEAVEN'S GATE. 

C. G. FEIfNKR. 

Casta placent Superis 
Pura cum veste venite. 

England's Belicon. 1600. 

My Robe of Life is travel- worn. 
And dusty with the dusty way ; 

It beareth marks of many a storm. 
It beareth marks of many a fray, — 

The morning shower, the damp night-dews, 

Have left their dark, discoloring hues. 



216 PENITENCE. 

My Robe of Life is scorched and burnt 
By madly rushing through the fires, 

Where sternest teachings I have learnt 
From passionate and fell desires ; 

Yet not without the loss of chaste 

White innocence, no more replaced. 

My Robe of Life is blood-besprent, — - 
For though I never raised the knife 

To smite my brother's breast, I 've sent 
A sharper steel through his soul's life. 

And made his heart to bleed by deep 

And angry words that murdered sleep. 

My Robe of Life is tear-bedewed, — 

Tears wrung from mine and others' eyes, 

That I so oft have shunned the good, 
That ever round us, God-sent, lies. 

And tears by deeper anguish forced 

From consciousness of virtue lost. 

My Robe of Life is sin-bespotted, 

And much bewrayed by anxious care, 

And here and there grown thin and rotted 
Away by too much wear and tear, — 

And torn by thorny thickets, when 

Through them I sought the road again. 

My Robe of Life at first was fair 
And spotless as the driven snow, 



217 



'T was flung around me gently there 

Where spirits first from Heaven do go ; 
And, white and clean, it seemed to be 
A type of God's own purity. 

Angel at the Heavenly Gate, 
How can I hope to enter, when 

At that high portal, lone and late, 

At closing eve I come again. 
After my life-day spent and past. 
With this worn life-robe round me cast ? 

1 hear a voice that, soft and low. 
Bids me to him, my Saviour, fly, 

And he will cleanse as white as snow 

Or whitest wool this robe, and I 
From him a wedding-robe shall have, 
When this is mouldered in the grave. 

A wedding-garment, brighter far 
Than that I did at first receive. 

Brighter than gleam of silvery star. 
My Saviour, Christ, to me will give ; 

And flinging off Life's Robe, will I 

Put on my Immortality. 



19 



218 PENITENCE. 



THE STUDENT. 

SACRED OFFERING. 

" He knelt down by my bed, and prayed. My soul was thrilled 
by the sound of that voice, so familiar, and so loved, and a thousand 
tender recollections crowded upon my mind. I was refreshed and 
strengthened as I listened, and hfted nearer to heaven." 

Jotham Anderson. 

I ROSE in all the pride of youth, 

To hail the light that round me lay ; 

Thirsting for knowledge and for truth, 
My soul sprang on her heavenly way ; 

In vain the mysteries of the past. 

Still sealed, before my eyes were cast. 

I proudly thought to lift that veil 

Which holier hearts than mine had tried, 

Who, with long years of study pale, 
Still found their loftier faith defied : 

'T is mine I I cried, that meed to gain ; — 

Alas ! that dream I how fond and vain ! 

An eye above beheld my pride. 
As bending o'er the midnight oil. 

How earthly and unsanctified 

The motives that still urged my toil ; 

How in that unseen mental strife, 

I wasted power, and health, and life. 



THE STUDENT. 219 

Yes ! mortal glory shone around, 

Its beams seemed kindling o'er my brow ; 

I thought my youth's long sufferings crowned, 
The hour of struggle over noAv : 

But He above the incense spurned 

Which with an earthly splendor burned. 

"With holier aims and purer fires 
He bade my spirit seek his shrine, 

Resign to him my heart's desires, 
And raise them to a crown divine ; 

And in humility and tears 

He bade me walk my future years. 

That chastening hand soon laid me low ; 

Imagination, wisdom, power, — 
What were they in my overthrow ? 

Oh I could they soothe my dying hour ? 
A still, small voice was whispering there, 
" Thy pride is fallen, — thy hope is prayer." 

The weight of death lay on my heart. 
My trembling lips refused to pray, 

As, one by one, I saw depart 
The trusts of that aspiring day; 

Confused and stricken, then I sought 

Some anchor for my parting thought 

And I was not forsaken. He 
I served so faithlessly was near ; 



220 PENITENCE. 

His pitying eye was over me, 

And marking every secret fear ; 
And in that hour of wild alarms 
He gave a parent to my arms. 

The aged knees for me were bent ; 

I heard the voice so long beloved ; 
A calm into my soul was sent, 

And every sense was sweetly moved ; 
For tender memories thronged around 
Again at that familiar sound. 

I wept, and all my weakness owned, — 
Those sacred words unbound my grief; 

The truth, the way, the life, I found, 
As on His breast I sought relief, 

And owned, subdued, the light of heaven 

To humble hearts alone is given. 



HYMN. 



J. BOWEING. 



From the recesses of a lowly spirit 
My humble prayer ascends. O Father ! hear it, 
Upsoaring on the wings of fear and meekness, — 
Forgive its weakness. 



HYMN. 221 

I know, I feel, how mean and how unworthy 
The trembling sacrifice I pour before thee ; 
What can I offer in thy presence holy, 
But sin and folly ? 

For in thy sight, who every bosom viev/est, 
Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our truest ; 
Thoughts of a hurrying hour, our lips repeat them, 
Our hearts forget them. 

We see thy hand, — it leads us, it supports us ; 
We hear thy voice, — it counsels and it courts us ; 
And then we turn away, — and still thy kindness 
Pardons our blindness. 

And still thy rain descends, thy sun is glowing, 
Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blow- 
ing? 
And, as if man were some deserving creature, 
Joy covers nature. 

O how long-suffering, Lord ! but thou delightest 
To win with love the wandering, — thou invitest, 
By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors, 
Man from his errors. 

Who can resist thy gentle call, appealing 

To every generous thought, and grateful feeling ? 

19* 



222 PENITENCE. 

That voice paternal, whispering, watching ever? 
My bosom ? — Never ! 

Father and Saviour ! plant within that bosom 
These seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom 
In jfragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, 
And spring eternal. 

Then place them in those everlasting gardens, 
Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens ; 
Where every flower that creeps through death's 
dark portal 
Becomes immortal. 



THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 

disciples' HTilN-BOOK. 

She stood outside the gate of heaven, and saw 

them entering in, 
A world-long train of shining ones, all washed 

in blood from sin. 

The hero-martyr in that blaze uplifted his strong 
eye. 

And trod firm the reconquered soil of his na- 
tivity I 



THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 223 

And he who had despised his life, and laid it 

down in pain, 
Now triumphed in its worthiness, and took it up 

again. 

The holy one, who had met God in desert cave 

alone. 
Feared not to stand with brethren around the 

Father's throne. 

They who had done, in darkest night, the deeds 

of light and flame. 
Circled with them about as with a glowing halo 

came. 

And humble souls, who held themselves too dear 

for earth to buy. 
Now passed through the golden gate, to live 

eternally. 

And when into the glory the last of all did 

go, 
" Thank God ! there is a heaven," she cried, 
"though mine is endless woe." 

The angel of the golden gate said : " Where, then, 

dost thou dwell ? 
And who art thou that enterest not ? " — "A 

soul escaped from hell." 



224 PENITENCE. 

*' Who knows to bless with prayer like thine, in 

hell can never be ; 
God's angel could not, if he would, bar up this 

door firom thee." 

She left her sin outside the gate, she meekly- 
entered there, 

Breathed free the blessed air of heaven, and 
knew her native air. 



PART VII. 

TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



ACTION At^D THOUGHT. 



E. M. MILNES. 



There is a world where struggle and stern toil 

Are all the nurture of the soul of jnan, — 

Ordained to raise from life's ungrateful soil 

Pain as he must, and Pleasure as he can. 

Then to that other world of thought from this 

Turns the sad soul, all hopeful of repose, 

But round in weirdest metamorphosis, 

False shapes and true, divine and devilish, close. 

Above these two, and resting upon each 

A meditative and compassionate eye, 

Broodeth the Spirit of God ; thence evermore, 

On those poor wanderers, cast from shore to shore, 

Falleth a voice, omnipotent to teach 

Them that will hear, — " Despair not ! it is I." 



226 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



FKOM ''THE HEAVENLY FRIEND." 

BEKNARD BARTON. 

There is a Friend more tender, true 

Than brother e'er can be ; 
Who, when all others bid adieu, 

Will still abide by thee ; 
Who, be their pathway bright or dim. 
Deserts not those that turn to Him. 

The heart by Him sustained, though deep 

Its anguish, still can bear ; 
The soul He condescends to keep. 

Shall never know despair ; 
In nature's weakness, sorrow's night, 
God is its strength, its joy, and light. 

He is the Friend who changeth not 

In sickness or in health. 
Whether on earth our transient lot 

Be poverty or wealth ; 
In joy or grief, contempt or fame. 
To all who seek Him still the same. 

Of human hearts He holds the key : 

Is friendship meet for ours ? 
O, be assured that none but He 

Unlocks its purest powers : 



A REMONSTRANCE. 227 

He can recall the lost, the dead, 
Or give us nobler in their stead. 

Of earthly friends, — who finds them true 

May boast a happy lot ; 
But happier still, life's journey through. 

Is he who needs them not : 
A heavenly Friend, — to know we need, 
To feel we have, — is bliss indeed. 



A REMONSTRANCE 



TO A FRIEND WHO COMPLAINED TO THE AUTHOR THAT 
HE WAS "ALL ALONE." 



A. A. WATTS. 

O, SAY not thou art all alone 

Upon this wide, cold-hearted earth ; 
Sigh not o'er joys for ever flown, — 

The vacant chair, the silent hearth : 
Why should the world's unholy mirth 

Upon thy quiet dreams intrude. 
To scare those shapes of heavenly birth 

That people oft thy solitude ? 



228 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Though many a fervent hope of youth 

Hath passed, and scarcely left a trace ; 
Though earth-born love, its tears and truth. 

No longer in thy heart have place ; 
Nor time, nor grief can e'er efface 

The brighter hopes that now are thine, — 
The fadeless love, all-pitying grace, 

That makes thy darkest hours divine ! 

Not all alone ; for thou canst hold 

Communion sweet with saint and sage. 
And gather gems, of price untold. 

From many a consecrated page : 
Youth's dreams, the golden lights of age, 

The poet's lore, are still thine own ; 
Then, while such themes thy thoughts engage, 

O, how canst thou be all alone ! 

Not all alone ; the lark's rich note, 

As, mounting up to heaven, she sings ; 
The thousand silver sounds that float 

Above, below, on morning's wings ; 
The softer murmurs twilight brings, — 

The cricket's chirp, cicada's glee ; 
All earth, that Ijrre of myriad strings, 

Is jubilant with life for thee I 

Not all alone ; the whispering trees, 
The rippling brook, the starry sky, 



QUIET FROM GOD. 229 

Have each peculiar harmonies • 

To soothe, subdue, and sanctify : 

The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh. 
For thee hath oft a friendly tone, 

To lift thy grateful thoughts on high. 
And say, thou art not all alone ! 

Not all alone ; a watchful Eye, 

That notes the wandering sparrow's fall, 
A saving Hand, is ever nigh, 

A gracious Power attends thy call ; — 
"When sadness holds the heart in thrall. 

Oft is His tenderest mercy shown ; 
Seek then the balm vouchsafed to all, 

And thou canst never be alone ! 



QUIET FROM GOD. 



SACRED OFFERING. 



"If he giveth quiet, -who can make trouble? " — Job xxxiv. 29. 

Quiet from God ! It cometh not to still 
The vast and high aspirings of the soul, — 

The deep emotions which the spirit fill. 
And speed its purpose onward to the goal ; 

20 



230 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

It dims not youth's bright eye, 
Bends not joy's lofty brow, 

No guiltless ecstasy 

Need in its presence bow. 

It comes not in a sullen form, to place 

Life's greatest good in an inglorious rest ; 
Through a dull, beaten track its way to trace. 
And to lethargic slumber lull the breast : 
Action may be its sphere, 

Mountain paths, — boundless fields ; 
O'er billows its career : 

Tliis is the power it yields ; — 

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart ; 

To dwell with God, yet still with man to feel ; 
To bear about for ever in the heart 

The gladness which His Spirit doth reveal ; 
Not to deem evil gone 

From every earthly scene ; 
To see the storm come on, 
But feel his shield between. 

It giveth not a strength to human kind 

To leave all suffering powerless at its feet, 
But keeps wdthin the temple of the mind, 
A golden altar, and a mercy-seat, 
A spiritual ark. 

Bearing the peace of God, 



QUIET FROM GOD. 231 

Above the waters dark, 
And o'er the desert's sod. 

How beautiful within our souls to keep 

This treasure, the All-merciful hath given ; 
To feel, when we awake, and when we sleep. 
Its incense round us, Kke a breeze firom heaven ! 
Quiet at heart and home, 

Where the heart's joys begin ; 
Quiet where'er we roam. 
Quiet around, within. 

Who shall make trouble ? Not the evil minds 

Which like a shadow o'er creation lower. 
The spirit peace hath so attuned finds 

There feelings that may own the Calmer's power. 
What may she not confer, 

E'en where she must condemn ? 
They take not peace from her ; 
She may speak peace to them. 

What shall make trouble ? Not an adverse fate. 

Not chilly poverty, nor worldly care ; 
They who are tending to a better state 

Want but that peace to make them feel they are. 
Care o'er life's little day 

The tempest-cloud may roll ; 
Peace o'er its eve will play. 
The moonlight of the soul. 



232 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Who shall make trouble ? Not the holy thought 

Of the departed, — that will be a part 
Of those undying things which peace hath 
wrought 
Into a world of beauty in the heart : 
Not the forms passed away, 

Which time's strong current bore ; 
The dark stream might not stay, 
The ocean will restore. 

W ho sh all make trouble ? Not slow-wasting pain. 

Not the impending, certain stroke of death ; 
These do but wear away, then snap the chain 
Which bound the spirit down to things beneath. 
The quiet of the grave 

No trouble can destroy ; 
He who is strong to save 

Shall break it, — but with joy. 



BALLAD OF THE TELIPEST. 



J. T. FIELDS. 



We were crowded in the cabin, 
Not a soul would dare to sleep, 

It was midnight on the waters. 
And a storm was on the deep. 



BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 233 

'Tis a fearful thing in winter 

To be shattered in the blast, 
And to hear the rattling trumpet 

Thunder, " Cut away the mast ! " 

So we shuddered there in silence, — 
For the stoutest held his breath. 

While the hungry sea was roaring. 
And the breakers talked with Death. 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy in his prayers, — 

" We are lost ! " the captain shouted, 
As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered, 

As she took his icy hand, 
" Is n't God upon the ocean, 

Just the same as on the land ? " 

Then we kissed the little maiden. 

And we spoke in better cheer. 
And we anchored safe in harbor 

When the morn was shining clear. 



20 = 



234 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



^^^ElITTEN IN SICKNESS. 

JOHN QlTLSCr ADA3IS. 

Lord of all worlds ! let thanks and praise 

To thee for ever fill my soul ; 
"With blessings thou hast crowned my days,- 

JNIy heart, my head, my hand control : 
O let no vain presumption rise. 

No impious murmur in my heart. 
To crave the boon thy will denies, 

Or shrink from ill thy hands impart ! 

My soul, "\;\T.th endless being fraught, 

Created by thy gracious laws, 
With fancy, reason, judgment, thought. 

The links between effect and cause, 
Are gifts of goodness all divine, — 

Sprung from the clod, to heaven they rise, 
Immortal life with dust combine, 

And blend in union earth and skies. 

Life, health, and nurture to the boy 

See from the mother's breast supplied ; 
Yet not for ever streams the joy, — 

That floA^-ing fountain must be dried : 
W'eaned, the fond mothers darling still 

W^ithout complaint bereavement bears, 
No longer drains the milky rill. 

But still the flood of bomity shares. 



WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. 235 

That child am I, and not an hour, 

Revolving in the orbs above, 
But brings some token of thy power, 

But brings some token of thy love. 
And shall this bosom dare repine. 

In darkness dare deny the dawn, 
Or spurn the treasures of the mine. 

Because one diamond is withdrawn ? 

The fool denies, the fool alone, 

Thy being, Lord, and boundless might. 
Denies the firmament thy throne. 

Denies the Sun's meridian light, 
Denies the fashion of his frame. 

The voice he hears, the breath he draws : 
O idiot atheist ! to proclaim 

Effects unnumbered without cause ! 

Matter and mind, mysterious one. 

Are man's for threescore years and ten ; 
Where, ere the thread of life was spun ? 

Where, when reduced to dust again ? 
All-seeing God ! the doubt suppress, — 

The doubt thou only canst relieve ; 
My soul thy Saviour Son shall bless, 

Fly to thy Gospel, and believe. 



236 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



"A LITTLE BIRD I AM." 

WRITTEN IN PRISON. 
MADAME GUTOJT. 

A LITTLE bird I am, 

Shut from the fields of air ; 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To Him who placed me there ; 
Well pleased a prisoner to be, 
Because, my God, it pleases thee. 

Naught have I else to do ; 

I sing the whole day long ; 
And He whom most I love to please 

Doth listen to my song ; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing. 
But still he bends to hear me sing. • 

Thou hast an ear to hear, 

A heart to love and bless ; 
And though my notes were ne'er so rude. 

Thou would'st not hear the less ; 
Because thou knowest, as they fall, 
That Love, sweet Love, inspires them all. 

My cage confines me round; 
Abroad I cannot fly ; 



THE ALPINE CROSS. 237 

But though my wing is closely bound, 

My heart 's at liberty. 
My prison walls cannot control 
The flight, the freedom of the soul. 

O, it is good to soar 

These bolts and bars above. 
To Him whose purpose I adore, 

Whose providence I love ! 
And in Thy mighty will to find 
The joy, the freedom, of the mind. 



THE ALPINE CROSS. 



J. T. FIELDS. 



Benighted once where Alpine storms 
Have buried hosts of martial forms. 
Halting with fear, benumbed with cold. 
While swift the avalanches rolled, 
Shouted our guide, with quivering breath, 
" The path is lost ! to move is death I " 

The savage snow-clifFs seemed to frown. 
The howling winds came fiercer down ; 
Shrouded in such a dismal scene, 
No mortal aid whereon to lean. 



238 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Think you what music 't was to hear, 
" I see the Cross ! our way is clear I " 

"We looked, and there, amid the snows, 
A simple cross of wood uprose. 
Firm in the tempest's awful wrath, 
It stood to guide the traveller's path, 
And point to where the valley lies, 
Serene beneath the summer skies. 

One dear companion of that night 
Has passed away from human sight. 
He reached his home to droop and fade, 
And sleep within his native glade ; 
But as his fluttering hand I took, 
Before he gave his farewell look. 
He whispered from his bed of pain, 
" The Alpine cross I see again ! " 
Then, smiling, sank to endless rest, 
Upon his weeping mother's breast. 



PRISONS DO NOT EXCLUDE GOD. 



MADASIE GUTON. 



Strong are the walls around me, 
That hold me all the day ; 



PRISONS DO NOT EXCLUDE GOD. 239 

But they who thus have bound me 

Cannot keep God away : 
My very dungeon walls are dear, 
Because the God I love is here. 

They know, who thus oppress me, 

'T is hard to be alone ; 
But know not, One can bless me, 

"Who comes through bars and stone : 
He makes my dungeon's darkness bright, 
And fills my bosom with delight. 

Thy love, O God I restores me 
From sighs and tears to praise ; 

And deep my soul adores thee. 
Nor thinks of time or place : 

I ask no more, in good or ill, 

But union with thy holy will. 

'T is that which makes my treasure, 
'T is that which brings my gain ; 

Converting woe to pleasure. 
And reaping joy from pain. 

O, 't is enough, whate'er befall, 

To know that God is All in All. 



240 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

DE PROFUNPIS. 

WILLIAM CROSWELL. 

" There may be a cloud without a rainbow, but there cannot be a 
rainbow without a cloud." 

My soul were dark 
But for the golden light and rainbow hue 
That, sweeping heaven with their triumphant arc, 

Break on the view. 

Enough to feel 
That God indeed is good ! enough to know 
Without the gloomy clouds he could reveal 

No beauteous bow. 



"WHY THUS LONGING?" 



MISS WINSLOW. 



Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing 
For the far-oiF, unattained, and dim ; 

While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ? 

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, 
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; 

Leaf and flower, and laden bee, are preaching, 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. 



" WHY THUS LONGING ? " 241 

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 

To some little world through weal and woe ; — 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten, 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, 
Not by works that give thee world-renown. 

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses. 

Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely. 
Every day a rich reward will give ; 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only. 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning. 

When all nature hails the Lord of light, 

And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning. 
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright ? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest. 
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with fervent love if thou adorest. 

Thou art wealthier, — all the world is thine ! 

21 



242 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Yet if through earth's wide domain^ thou rovest, 
Sighing that they are not thine alone, 

Not those fan* fields, but thyself thou lovest, 
And their beauty and thy worth are gone. 

Nature wears the colors of the spirit ; 

Sweetly to her worshipper she sings ; 
All the glow, the grace, she doth inherit. 

Round her trusting child she fondly flings. 



THE POOR CHILD'S HYJMN. 



MARY HOWITT. 



"We are poor and lowly born ; 

With the poor we bide ; 
Labor is our heritage. 

Care and want beside. 
What of this ? Our blessed Lord 

Was of lowly birth, 
And poor, toiling fishermen 

Were his friends on earth! 

We are ignorant and young ; 

Simple children all ; 
Gifted with but humble powers, 

And of learning small. 



HOPE IS BETTER THAN EASE. 243 

What of this ? Our blessed Lord 

Loved such as we ; 
How he blessed the little ones 

Sitting on his knee ! 



HOPE IS BETTER THAN EASE. 

J. KZBLE. — CHEISTIA2f TEAR. 

" I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, -which is 
your glory." — Ephesians iii. 13. 

Wish not, dear friends, my pain away, — 
Wish me a wise and thankful heart, 

With God, in all my griefs, to stay, 
Nor from his loved correction start. 

The dearest offering he can crave 
His portion in our souls to prove, 

What is it to the gift he gave. 
The only Son of his dear love ? 

But we, like vexed, unquiet sprites. 
Will still be hovering o'er the tomb, 

Where buried lie our vain delights. 
Nor sweetly take a sinner's doom. 

In life's long sickness evermore 

Our thoughts are tossing to and fro : 



244 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

We change our posture o'er and o'er, 
But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe. 

Were it not better to lie still, 

Let Him strike home, and bless the rod, — 
Never so safe as when our will 

Yields undiscerned by all but God ? 

Thy precious things, whate'er they be 

That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, 

Look to the cross, and thou shalt see 
How thou may'st turn them all to gain. 



Lovest thou praise ? the cross is shame ; 

Or ease ? the cross is bitter grief; 
More pangs than tongue or heart can frame 

Were suffered there without relief. 

We of that altar would partake. 

But cannot quit the cost, — no throne 

Is ours, to leave for thy dear sake, — 
We cannot do as thou hast done. 

We cannot part with heaven for Thee, — 
Yet guide us in thy track of love ; 

Let us gaze on where light should be, 
Though not a beam the clouds remove. 

So wanderers ever fond and true 

Look homeward through the evening sky, 



LINES. 245 

Without a streak of heaven's soft blue 
To aid affection's dreaming eye. 

The wanderer seeks his native bower, 
And we will look and long for Thee, 

And thank thee for each trying hour. 
Wishing, not struggling, to be free. 



LINES. 



OLIVER W. B. PEABODY. 



O WHO that has gazed, in the stillness of even, 

On the fast fading hues of the west. 
Has seen not afar, in the bosom of heaven. 

Some bright little mansion of rest. 
And mourned that the path to a region so fair 

Should be shrouded with sadness and fears, — 
That the night-winds of sorrow, misfortune, and 

care 
Should sweep from the deep rolling waves of 
despair. 

To darken this cold world of tears ? 

And who that has gazed has not longed for the 
hour 
When misfortune for ever shall cease ; 

21* 



246 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

And Hope, like the rainbow, unfold through the 
shower 

Her bright- written promise of peace? 
And oh I if that rainbow of promise may shine 

On the last scene of life's wintry gloom. 
May its light in the moment of parting be mine ; 
I ask but one ray from a source so divine, 

To brighten the vale of the tomb. 



CONSOLATIONS. 



HARRIET MARTINEAU. 



Mourner! thou seekest Rest. 
Rise from thy couch, and dry the tears unblest, 
And sigh no more for blessings now resigned. 
Go to the fount of life which ever flows ; 
There thou mayst gain oblivion of thy woes. 
There shall thy spirit own a sweet repose. 
Seek Rest, and thou shalt find. 

Thou seekest Health ; and how? 
Let gloom and tears no more thy spirit bow ; 
Health springs aloft upon the viewless wind : 
Up to the mountain-top pursue her flight ; 
Over the fresh turf track her footsteps light ; 
In hawthorn bowers, 'mid fountains gushing bright,. 
Seek her, and thou shalt find. 



CONSOLATIONS. 247 

But Hope hath left thee too, 
'IVIid many griefs, and comforts all too few. 
Think not her angel-presence is confined 
To earth ; but seek the helps which God hath given 
To aid thy feeble sight, and through the heaven 
See where she soars, bright as the. star of even. 
Then seek, and thou shalt find. 

Dost thou seek Peace, and where ? 
'Mong thine own withered hopes ? She is not 

there. 
Nor in the depths of thine own darkened mind. 
Lay thy heart open to the infant's mirth. 
Send the bright hopes of others from their birth, 
Look round for all that 's beautiful on earth. 
Seek Peace, and thou shalt find. 

Seek Peace and Hope and Rest : 
And as the eagle flutters o'er her nest,* 
And bears her young, all trembling, weak, and 

blind, 
Up to heaven-gate on her triumphant wing, — 
So shall the Lord thy God thy spirit bring 
To whom eternal suns their radiance fling. 
Him seek, and thou shalt find. 

* Deuteronomy xxxii. 11. 



248 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



PAEAPHRASE OF PSALM XXH. 

H. K. WHITE. 

My God, my God, O why dost thou forsake me? 

Why art thou distant in the hour of fear? 
To thee, my wonted help, I still betake me, 

To thee I clamor, but thou dost not hear. 

The beam of morning witnesses my sighing. 
The lonely night-hour views me weep in vain; 

Yet thou art holy, and on thee relying, 

Our fathers were released from grief and pain. 

To thee they cried, and thou didst hear their 
wailing, 

On thee they trusted, and their trust was sure ; 
But I, poor, lost, and wretched son of failing, 

I, without hope, must scorn and hate endure. 

Me they revile ; with many ills molested. 
They bid me seek of thee, O Lord, redress : 

On God, they say, his hope and trust he rested. 
Let God relieve him in his deep distress. 

To me, Almighty, in thy mercy shining. 

Life's dark and dangerous portals thou didst 
ope; 



"to whom shall we go?" 249 

And, softly on my mother's lap reclining, 

Breathed through my breast the lively soul of 
hope. 

Even from the womb, thou art my God, my Father ! 

Aid me, now trouble weighs me to the ground : 
Me heavy ills have worn, and, faint and feeble, 

The bulls of Bashan have beset me round. 

My heart is melted, and my soul is weary; 
The wicked ones have pierced my hands and 
feet! 
Lord, let thy influence cheer my bosom dreary : 
My help! my strength! let me thy presence 
greet ! 

Save me ! O, save me ! from the sword dividing, 
Give me my darling from the jaws of death ! 

Thee will I praise, and, in thy name confiding, 
Proclaim thy mercies with my latest breath. 



TO WHOM SHALL WE GO? 



MRS. E. L. FOLLEN. 



When our purest delights are nipt in the blossom, 
When those we love best are laid low, 

When grief plants in secret her thorns in the bosom, 
Deserted, " to whom shall we go ? " 



250 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

When error bewilders, and our path becomes 
dreary, 
And tears of despondency flow ; 
When the whole head is sick, and the whole 
heart is weary, 
Despairing, " to whom shall we go ? " 

When the sad, thirsty spirit turns from the 
springs 

Of enchantment this life can bestow, 
And sighs for another, and flutters its wings. 

Impatient, " to whom shall we go ? " 

O blest be that light which has parted the clouds, 

A path to the pilgrim to show. 
That pierces the veil which the future enshrouds, 

And shows us to whom we may go. 



A PRAYEK. 



E. M. IVIILNES. 



Evil, every living hour, 
Holds us in its wilful hand, 
Save as thou, essential Power, 
Mayst be gracious to withstand 
Pain within the subtle flesh. 
Heavy lids that cannot close, 



A PRAYER. 251 

Hearts that hope will not refresh, — 
Hand of Healing I interpose. 

Tyranny's strong breath is tainting 
Nature's sweet and vivid air, 
Nations silently are fainting, 
Or up-gather in despair : ; 

Not to those distracted wills 
Trust the judgment of their woes ; 
While the cup of anguish fills. 
Arm of Justice ! interpose. 

Pleasures night and day are hovering 
Round their prey of weary hours, 
Weakness and unrest discovering 
In the best of human powers : 
Ere the fond delusions tire. 
Ere envenomed passion grows 
From the root of vain desire, — 
Mind of Wisdom ! interpose. 

Now no more in tuneful motion 
Life with love and duty glides ; 
Reason's meteor-lighted ocean 
Bears us down its mazy tides ; 
Head is clear and hand is strong, 
But our heart no haven knows ; 
Sun of Truth ! the night is long, — 
Let thy radiance interpose ! 



252 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



GOD EULING IN ALL. 

ALFRED TEimrSON. — IN MEMOKIAM. 

Love is and was my Lord and King, 
And in his presence I attend 
To hear the tidings of my friend. 

Which every hour his couriers bring. 

Love is and was my King and Lord, 
And will be, though as yet I keep 
Within his court on earth, and sleep 

Encompassed by his faithful guard, 

And hear at times a sentinel 

That moves about from place to place, 
And whispers to the vast of space 

Among the worlds, that all is well. 

And all is well, though faith and form 
Be sundered in the night of fear ; 
Well roars the storm to those that hear 

A deeper voice across the storm, 

Proclaiming social truth shall spread, 

And justice, e'en though thrice again 
The red fool-fury of the Seine 

Should pile her barricades with dead. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 253 



A CHRISTIMAS CAROL. 

CHARLES KINGSLEY. 

It chanced upon the merry, merry Christmas eve 
I went sighing past the church, across the 
moorland dreary, — 
" Oh ! never sin and want and woe this earth will 
leave. 
And the bells but mock the wailing sound 
they sing so cheery. 
How long, O Lord ! how long before thou come 
again ? 
Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland 
dreary 
The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor 
men toil in vain. 
Till the earth is sick of hope deferred, though 
Christmas bells be cheery." 

Then arose a joyous clamor from the wild-fowl 
on the mere. 
Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear 
bells ringing, 
And a voice cried : " Listen ! Christmas carols 
even here ! 
Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the 
stars and snows are singing. 

22 



254 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Blind ! I live, I love, I reign ; and all the nations 
through 
With the thunder of my judgments even now 
are ringing ; 
Do thou fulfil thy work, but as yon wild-fowl do, 
Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear 
through it angels' singing." 



THE HOPE OF MAN. 



T. W. HIGGINSON. 



The past is dark with sin and shame, 
The future dim with doubt and fear; 

But, Father, yet we praise thy name, 
Whose guardian love is always near. 

For man has striven, ages long, 

With faltering steps to come to thee, 

And in each purpose high and strong 
The influence of thy grace could see. 

He could not breathe an earnest prayer, 
But thou wast kinder than he dreamed, 

As age by age brought hopes more fair. 
And nearer still thy kingdom seemed. 



PRAYER. 255 

But never rose within his breast 

A trust so calm and deep as now ; — 

Shall not the weary find a rest ? 
Father, Preserver, answer thou ! 

'T is dark around, 't is dark above, 

But through the shadow streams the sun ; 

We cannot doubt thy certain love. 
And man's true aim shall yet be won ! 



PK AYER. 



K. M. SnLNES. 



In reverence will we speak of those that woo 
The ear Divine with clear and ready prayer ; 
And, while their voices cleave the Sabbath air. 
Know their bright thoughts are winging heaven- 
ward too. 
Yet many a one, — the " latchet of whose shoe " 
These might not loose, — will often only dare 
Lay some poor words between him and despair, — 
" Father, forgive ! we know not what we do." 
For, as Christ prayed, so echoes our weak heart, 
Yearning the ways of God to vindicate, 



256 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

But worn and wildered by the shows of fate, 
Of good oppressed and beautiful defiled, 
Dim alien force, that draws or holds apart 
From its dear home that wandering spirit-child. 



HYMN 



yy. H. HTRLEUBT. 



We will not weep, — for God is standing by us. 
And tears will blind us to the blessed sight ; 

We will not doubt ; if darkness still doth try us, 
Our souls have promise of serenest light. 

We will not faint ; if heavy burdens bind us, 

They press no harder than our souls can bear ; 
The thorniest way is lying still behind us ; 
We shall be braver for the past despair. 

O, not in doubt shall be our journey's ending. 
Sin with its fears shall leave us at the last ; 

All its blest hopes in glad fulfilment blending, 
Life shall be ^\*ith us when the death is past. 

Help us, O Father ! when the world is pressing 
On our frail hearts, that faint without their friend ; 

Help us, O Father ! let thy constant blessing 
Strengthen our weakness, — till the joyful end. 



THE DEAD CHURCH. 257 



THE DEAD CHURCH. 



CHARLES KINGSLEY. 



Wild, wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sigh- 
ing? 

Dark, dark night, wilt thou never wear away ? 

Cold, cold church, in thy death sleep lying. 

Thy Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine 
Easter-day. 

Peace, faint heart, though the night be dark and 

sighing ; 
Rest, fair corpse, where thy Lord himself hath 

lain. 
Weep, dear Lord, where thy bride is lying ; 
Thy tears shall wake her frozen limbs to life and 

health again. 



HOPE, DOUBT, AND TRUST. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. — " IN MEMORIAJI." 

O, YET we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill, 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 

Defects of doubt and taints of blood ; 

22* 



258 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

That nothing walks with aimless feet ; 
That not one life shall be destroyed, 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 

When God hath made the pile complete ; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 
That not a moth with vain desire 
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire. 

Or but subserves another's gain. 

Behold ! we know not anything ; 

I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last, — far off, — at last, to all, 

And every winter change to spring. 

So runs my dream : but what am I ? 
An infant crying in the night : 
An infant cr3dng for the light : 

And with no language but a cry. 



The wish, that of the living whole 

No life may fail beyond the grave, — 
Derives it not from what we have 

The likest God within the soul ? 



HOPE, DOUBT, AND TRUST. 259 

Are God and Nature then at strife, 

That Nature lends such evil dreams ? 
So careful of the type she seems, 

So careless of the single life ; 

That I, considering everywhere 

Her secret meaning in her deeds. 
And finding that of fifty seeds 

She often brings but one to bear ; 

I falter where I firmly trod. 

And falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world's altar-stairs. 

That slope through darkness up to God ; 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 
And gather dust and chaff, and call 
To what I feel is Lord of all, 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 



260 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 



THE MILLENMUIM. 



O SCENES surpassing fable, and yet true. 
Scenes of accomplished bliss I which who can 

see, 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy ? 
Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
And clothe all climes with beauty : the reproach 
Of ban-en ness is past. The fruitful field 
Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean 
Or fertile only in its own disgrace. 
Exults to see its thirsty curse repealed. 
The various seasons woven into one, 
And that one season an eternal spring, 
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence. 
For there is none to covet, all are full. 
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, 
Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon. 
Together, or all gambol in the shade 
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
Lurks in the serpent now : the mother sees, 
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
Stretched forth to. dally with the crested worm. 
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 



THE MILLENNIUM. 261 

The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : 
That creeping pestilence is driven away : 
The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart 
No passion touches a discordant string. 
But all is harmony and love. Disease 
Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
Holds its due course, nor feels the frost of age. 
One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
" Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us I " 
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops 
From distant ihountains catch the flying joy ; 
Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. 
Behold the measure of the promise filled ; 
See Salem built, the labor of a God ! 
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy. 
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, 
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there : 
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
Praise is in all her gates : upon her walls, 
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, 
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 



262 TRUST AND SUBMISSION. 

Kneels with the native of the farthest West ; 

And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, 

And worships. Her report has travelled forth 

Into all lands. From every clime they come 

To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 

O Sion ! an assembly such as Earth 

Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. 



PART YIII. 

DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



SONGS OF BEING. 

SABGEJfT'S SELECTION. 
THE BIRTH. 

Hail ! new- waked atom of the eternal whole, 
Young voyager upon Time's mighty river ! 
Hail to thee, Human Soul ! 

Hail, and for ever ! 
Pilgrim of life, all hail ! 
He who at first called forth 
From nothingness the earth. 
Who clothed the hiUs in strength, and dug the sea, 
Who gave the stars to gem 
Night like a diadem, 

Thou little child, made thee ; 
Young habitant of earth 
Fair as its flowers, though brought in sorrow forth, 
Thou art akin to God who fashioned thee ! 



264 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

The heavens themselves shall vanish as a scroll, 
The solid earth dissolve, the stars grow pale, 
But thou, O Human Soul, 

Shalt be immortal ! Hail ! 
Thou young Immortal, Hail ! 
He, before whom are dim 
Seraph and cherubim, 
Who gave the archangels strength and majesty, 
Who sits upon heaven's throne. 
The Everlasting One, 

Thou Httle child, made thee ! 
Fair habitant of earth. 
Immortal in thy God, though mortal by thy birth, 
Born for life's trials, hail ! all hail to thee ! 

THE DEATH. 

Shrink not, O Human Spirit! 
The Everlasting Arm is strong to save ! 

Look up, look up, frail nature ! put thy trust 
In Him who went down mourning to the dust. 

And overcame the grave! 

Quickly goes down the sun ; 

Life's work is almost done ; 
Fruitless endeavor, hope deferred, and strife ! 

One little struggle more, 

One pang, and then is o'er 
AH the long, mournful weariness of life. 

Kind friends, 't is almost past ; 

Come now, and look your last ! 



SONGS OF BEING. 265 

Sweet children, gather near, 

And his last blessing hear. 
See how he loved you, who departeth now ! 
And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow, 

O, most beloved one. 

Whose breast he leaned upon, 

Come, faithful unto death, 

Receive his parting breath ! 
The fluttering spirit panteth to be free, — 
Hold him not back who speeds to victory ! 
— The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free! 

Hail, hail, enfranchised spirit ! 
Thou that the wine-press of the field hast trod ! 
On, blest Immortal, on through boundless space, 
And stand with thy Redeemer, face to face, 
^ And bow before thy God ! 

Life's weary work is o'er, 

Thou art of earth no more, — 
No more art trammelled by the oppressive clay, 

But tread' st with winged ease 

The high acclivities 
Of truths sublime, up heaven's crystalline way. 

Here is no bootless quest ; 

The city's name is Rest ; 

Here shall no fear appall ; 

Here love is all in all ; 
Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul's desire ; 
Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire. 

23 



266 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Lift, lift thy wondering eyes ! 

Yonder is Paradise, 

And this fair shining band 

Are spirits of thy land ! 
And these that throng to meet thee are thy kin, 
Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin ! 
The city gates unfold, — enter, O enter in ! 



TO NIGHT. 



J. BLAXCO -SA-HITE. 



Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 

This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 

Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew. 

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the host of heaven came. 

And lo I creation widened in man's view. 

Who could have thought such darkness lay 
concealed 

Within thy beams, O sun ? or who could find. 
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, 

That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ? 
Why do we, then, shun death with anxious 

strife ? 
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ? 



A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD. 267 



A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD. 

K. C. TREXCH. 

We walked within the churchyard bounds, 

My little boy and I, — 
He laughing, running happy rounds, 

I pacing mournfully. 

" Nay, child ! it is not well," I said, 

'• Among the graves to shout. 
To laugh and play among the dead, 

And make this noisy rout." 

A moment to my side he clung, 

Leaving his merry play, 
A moment stilled his joyous tongue, 

Almost as hushed as they : 

Then, quite forgetting the command, 

In life's exulting burst 
Of early glee, let go my hand, 

Joyous as at the first. 

And now I did not check him more. 

For, taught by Nature's face, 
I had grown wiser than before. 

Even in that moment's space. 



268 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

She spread no funeral pall above 
That patch of churchyard ground, 

But the same azure vault of love 
As hung o'er all around. 

And white clouds o'er that spot would pass, 

As freely as elsewhere ; 
The sunshine on no other grass 

A richer hue might wear. 

And formed from out that very mould 

In which the dead did lie, 
The daisy with its eye of gold 

Looked up into the sky. 

The rook was wheeling overhead, 

Nor hastened to be gone, — 
The small bird did its glad notes shed, 

Perched on a gray headstone. 

And God, I said, would never give 

This light upon the earth. 
Nor bid in childhood's heart to live 

These springs of gushing mirth, 

K our one wisdom were to mourn 

And linger with the dead, — 
To nurse, as wisest, thoughts forlorn 

Of worm and earthy bed. 



THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. 269 

O no I the glory earth puts on, 

The child's unchecked delight, 
Both witness to a triumph won, 

(If we but read aright,) — 

A triumph won o'er sin and death, — 
From these the Saviour saves ; 

And, like a happy infant, Faith 
Can play among the graves. 



THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. 



C. MACKAY. 



A LITTLE child beneath a tree 

Sat and chanted cheerily 

A little song, a pleasant song, 

Which was, — she sang it all day long, — 

" When the wind blows, the blossoms fall ; 

But a good God reigns over all I " 

There passed a lady by the way. 
Moaning in the face of day : 
There were tears upon her cheek, 
Grief in her heart too great to speak ; 
Her husband died but yester-morn. 
And left her in the world forlorn. 

23* 



270 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

She stopped and listened to the child, 
That looked to heaven, and, singing, smiled ; 
And saw not for her own despair 
Another lady, young and fail*. 
Who, also passing, stopped to hear 
The infant's anthem ringing clear. 

For she but few sad days before 
Had lost the little babe she bore ; 
And grief was heavy at her soul 
As that sweet memory o'er her stole, 
And showed how bright had been the past, 
The present drear and overcast. 

And as they stood beneath the tree 
Listening, soothed and placidly, 
A youth came by, whose sunken eyes 
Spake of a load of miseries ; 
And he, arrested like the twain. 
Stopped to listen to the strain. 

Death had bowed the youthful head 
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed : 
Her marriage robes* were fitted on. 
Her fair young face with blushes shone, 
"When the destroyer smote her low, 
And changed the lover's bliss to woe. 

And these three listened to the song. 
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong, 



THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. 271 

Which that child, the livelong day, 
Chanted to itself in play : 
" When the wind blows, the blossoms fall ; 
But a good God reigns over all ! " 

The widow's lips impulsive moved ; 
The mother's grief, though um-eproved, 
Softened, as her trembling tongue 
Repeated what the infant sung; 
And the sad lover, Avith a start, 
Conned it over to his heart. 

And though the child — if child it were, 
And not a seraph sitting there — 
Was seen no more, the sorrowing three 
Went on their way resignedly. 
The song still ringing in their ears : — 
Was it music of the spheres ? 

Who shall tell ? They did not know, 

But in the midst of deepest woe, 

The strain recurred when sorrow grew. 

To warn them, and console them too : 

'• Wiien the wind blows, the blossoms fall ; 

But a good God reigns over all I " 



272 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A MOTHER, ON THE 
DEATH OF TWO INFANTS. 

J. Q. ADAMS. 

Sure, to the mansions of the blest 

When infant innocence ascends, 
Some angel, brighter than the rest, 

The spotless spirit's flight attends. 
On wings of ecstasy they rise 

Beyond where worlds material roll, 
Till some fair sister of the skies 

Receives the unpolluted soul. 
There, at the Almighty Father's hand. 

Nearest the throne of living light. 
The choirs of infant seraphs stand. 

And dazzling shine, where all are bright. 
Chained for a dreary length of years 

Down to these elements below. 
Some stain the sky-born spirit bears 

Contracted from this world of woe. 
That unextinguishable beam, 

With dust united at our birth. 
Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam, 

The more it lingers upon earth. 
Closed in this dark abode of clay. 

The stream of glory faintly burns ; 
Not unobscured, the lucid ray 

To its own native fount returns. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A MOTHER. 273 

But when the Lord of mortal breath 

Decrees his bounty to resume, 
And points the silent shaft of death 

Which speeds an infant to the tomb, 
No passion fierce, nor low desire. 

Has quenched the radiance of the flame ; 
Back to its God the living fire 

Reverts, unclouded as it came. 
O Anna ! be that solace thine ; 

Let Hope her healing charm impart, 
And soothe, with melodies divine, 

The anguish of a mother's heart. 
O, think the darlings of thy love, 

Divested of this earthly clod, 
Amid unnumbered saints above. 

Bask in the bosom of their God ! 
Of their short pilgrimage on earth 

Still tender images remain ; 
Still, still they bless thee for their birth, 

Still, filial gratitude retain. 
The days of pain, the nights of care. 

The bosom's agonizing strife. 
The pangs which thou for them didst bear, — 

No ! they forget them not with life. 
Scarce could their germing thought conceive. 

While in this vale of tears they dwelt, 
Scarce their fond sympathy relieve 

The sufferance thou for them hast felt. 
But there the soul's perennial flower 

Expands in never-fading bloom, 



274 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Spurns at the grave's poor transient hour, 

And shoots immortal from the tomb. 
No weak, "unformed idea there 

Toils, the mere promise of a mind ; 
The tide of intellect flows clear. 

Strong, full, unchanging, and refined. 
Each anxious care, each rending sigh. 

That \\Tung for them the parent's breast. 
Dwells on remembrance in the sky, 

Amid the raptures of the blest. 
O'er thee with looks of love they bend, 

For thee the Lord of life implore. 
And oft from sainted bliss descend. 

Thy wounded quiet to restore. 
Oft in the stillness of the night 

They smooth the pillow for thy bed ; 
Oft, till the morn's returning light. 

Still watchful hover o'er thy head. 
Hark ! in such strains as saints employ. 

They whisper to thy bosom. Peace ; 
Calm the perturbed heart to joy. 

And bid the streaming sorrow cease. 
Then dry henceforth the bitter tear. 

Their path and thine inverted see ; 
Thou wert their guardian angel here, 

They guardian angels now to thee. 



TO A DYING INFANT. 275 



TO A DYING INFANT. 

MRS. L. H. SIGOUR>^EY. 

Go to thy rest, my child ! 

Go to thy dreamless bed, 
Gentle and undefiled. 

With blessings on thy head ; 
Fresh roses in thy hand, 

Buds on thy pillow laid. 
Haste from this fearful land, 

Where flowers so quickly fade. 

Before thy heart might learn 

In waywardness to stray. 
Before thy foot could turn 

The dark and downward way, 
Ere sin might wound the breast, 

Or sorrow wake the tear, 
Rise to thy home of rest. 

In yon celestial sphere. 

Because thy smile was fair, 

Thy lip and eye so bright. 
Because thy cradle care 

Was such a fond delight, 
Shall Love, with weak embrace. 

Thy heavenward flight detain ? 
No ! Angel, seek thy place 

Amid yon cherub train. 



276 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



LITTLE CHAELIE. 

HOKATIO ALGER, JK. 

A VIOLET grew by the river-side, 

And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; 
While over the fields, on the scented air, 

It breathed a rich perfume. 
But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky. 

And its portals were opened wide ; 
And the heavy rain beat down the flower 

That grew by the river-side. 

Not far away, in a pleasant home, 

There lived a little boy, 
"Whose cheerful face and childish grace 

Filled every heart with joy. 
He wandered one day to the river's verge, 

With no one near to save ; 
And the heart that we loved with a boundless love 

Was stilled in the restless wave. 

The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes, 

And we bade farewell to joy ; 
For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie 

To the grave of the little boy. 
The birds still sing in the leafy tree 

That shadows the open door ; 
We heed them not, for we think of the voice 

That we shall hear no more. 



TO J. s. 277 

We think of him at eventide, 

And gaze on his vacant chair 
With a longing heart, that will scarce believe 

That Charlie is not there. 
We seem to hear his ringing laugh, 

And his bounding step at the door ; 
But alas ! there comes the sorrowful thought, — 

We shall never hear them more I 

We shall walk sometimes to his little grave. 

In the pleasant summer hours ; 
We will speak his name in a softened voice. 

And cover his grave ^\^.th flowers ; 
We will think of him in his heavenly home, — 

His heavenly home so fair ; . 
And we will trust with a hopeful trust 

That we shall meet him there. 



TO J. S. 



\VILLIA3I W. STOEY. 



" Better is the sight of the eyes, than the wandering ot the desire. 
- Ecclesiastes vi. 9. 

I YIELD thee unto higher spheres ; 

I bend my head and say, '' Thy mil. 
Not mine, be done," though bitter tears 

The while mine eyelids fill. 

24 



278 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

I know thou hast escaped the blight 
That wilts us here, and entered now 

To perfect day, — though in the night 
Bereft of thee we bow. 

And yet thy little sunny life 
Was beautiful as it was brief; 

It was not vexed by pain or strife, 
It knew but little grief. 

The sunshine from our house is gone, 
And from our hearts their peace and joy ; 

We feel so tembly alone 
Without thee, dearest boy ! 

Thou mad'st us feel how very fair 

God's earth could be, and: taught us love ; 

And in life's tapestry of care 
A golden figure wove. 

Brave as we will our hearts to bear, 
Grief will not wholly be denied ; 

The ineffectual dikes we rear 
Go down before its tide. 

We lie all prostrate, — cannot feel 
God's love ; we only cry aloud, 

" O God ! O God I " for all things reel, 
And God hides in a cloud. 



TO J. s. 279 

We blindly wail, for we are maimed 

Beyond repair, until at last 
He lifts us up, — all bleeding, lamed. 

And shattered by the blast. 

He asks, " And would you wish him back, 
Whom I have taken to my joy, — 

Drag downward to life's narrow track 
Your little spirit boy ? " 

" No ! no I " the spirit makes reply, — 
" Not back to earthly chance and pain " ; 

*' Yet ah ! " the shattered senses cry, 
" Would he were here again I " 

He was so meshed within our love 
That all our heart-strings bleeding lie, 

And all fond hopes we round him wove 
Are now but agony. 

Yet let us suffer ; he is freed, 

And on our tears a bridge of light 

Is built by God, his steps to lead 
To joys beyond our sight. 



280 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



LITTLE HEEBERT. 

MRS. S. F. CLAPP. 

Gather all his playthings up ; 
We shall never see them more, 
From his dimpled, dainty hands, 
Wildly thrown about the floor. 

He is weary of them all, 
Cares no more with them to play ; 
Leaving them, he hallows them : 
Lay them lovingly away. 

He hath heard the words of blessing, 
Bidding little children, " Come " ; 
Earthly love cannot detam him 
Longer from his heavenly home. 

Fold his little snowy hands 
Lay them gently on his breast ; 
Now he lieth still and calm, — 
Vision fair of perfect rest. 

Bless him in his beauty there, — 
Bless his solemn slumber deep ; 
" God's beloved," early crowned 
With the mystic sign of " sleep." * 

* " He giveth his beloved sleep." 



LITTLE HERBERT. 281 

Oft we prayed that angels might 
Keep thek watch about his bed : 
We can trust their vigils now ; 
They will guard our infant dead. 

"While the silence in the hoase 
Speaketh to us of our grief, 
We will thank our God, who gave 
Only for a season brief. 

Mild and winning were his ways ; 
Very happy seemed he here ; 
Bright the sunshine that he brought 
With him from the upper sphere. 

One brief year he blest our home, 
Filled our hearts with light and love. 
Added to our lives a joy 
That can never more remove. 

All his grace and innocence 
Hath increased our being's store ; 
What God giveth once is ours, — 
Ours, with him, for evermore. 

Now, a little hand is pointing 
Heavenward, as we journey on ; 
May it guide us, and receive us. 
When our earthly work is done ! 

24* 



282 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

THE LENT JEWEL*^. 

A JEWISH TALE. 
E. C. TREXCH. 

In schools of wisdom all the day was spent : 
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent, 
With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the 

wife 
And two fair children who consoled his life. 
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in. 
And, with these words preventing, did begin : — 
" Ever rejoicing at your wished return. 
Yet am I most so now : for since this morn 
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried 
Upon one point which you shall now decide. 
Some years ago, a friend into my care 
Some jewels gave, — rich, precious gems they 

were ; 
But having given them in my charge, this friend 
Did afterward nor come for them, nor send, 
But left them in my keeping for so long. 
That now it almost seems to me a "^^Trong 
That he should suddenly arrive to-day. 
To take those jewels, which he left, away. 
What think you ? Shall 1 freely yield them back, 
And with no murmuring, — so henceforth to lack 
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see 
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee ? " 



FROM " ISOBEL's CHILD." 283 

" What question can be here ? Your own true 
heart 
Must needs advise you of the only part : 
That may be claimed again which was but lent, 
And should be yielded ^\dth no discontent. 
Nor surely can we find herein a wrong, 
That it was left us to enjoy so long." 

" Good is the word," she answered ; '^ may we 

now 
And evermore that it is good allow ! " 
And, rising, to an inner chamber led. 
And there she showed him, stretched upon one 

bed, 
Two children pale : and he the jewels -knew, 
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew. 



FROM "ISOBEL'S CHILD." 

MRS. E. B. BROWI?ING. 

O MOTHER, mother ! loose thy prayer ! 
Christ's name hath made it strong ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me 
With its most loving cruelty. 



284 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

From floating my new soul along 

The happy heavenly air ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me 
In all this dark, upon this dull 
Low earth, by only weepers trod ! 
It bindeth me, it holdeth me ! 
Mine angel looketh sorrowful 

Upon the face of God. 

*' Mother, mother ! can I dream 

Beneath your earthly trees ? 

I had a ^dsion and a gleam, — 

I heard a sound more sweet than these 

When rippled by the wind. 
Did you see the Dove, with wings 
Bathed in golden glisterings 
From a sunless light behind, 
Dropping on me from the sky, 
Soft as a mother's kiss, until 
I seemed to leap, and yet was still ? 
Saw you how his love-large eye 
Looked upon me mystic calms. 
Till the power of his divine 
Vision was indrawn to mine ? 

^' O the dream within the dream ! 
I saw celestial places even. 
O the vistas of high palms, 
Making finites of delight 



FROM " ISOBEL's CHILD." 285 

Though the heavenly infinite, — 
Lifting up their green, still tops 

To the heaven of Heaven ! 
O the sweet life-tree that drops 
Shade like light across the river 
Glorified in its for ever 

Flowing from the Throne * 
O the shining holinesses 
Of the thousand, thousand faces 
God-sunned by the throned One ! 
And made intense with such a love, 
That, though I saw them turned above, 
Each, loving, seemed for also me ! 
And, O the Unspeakable! the He, 
The manifest in secrecies, 
Yet of mine own heart partaker ! 
With the overcoming look 
Of one who hath been once forsook, 

And blesseth the forsaker. 
Mother, mother I let me go 
Toward the face that looketh so. 
Through the mystic, winged Four, 
"Whose are inward, outward eyes 
Dark with light of mysteries, — 
And the restless evermore 
" Holy, holy, holy," — through 
The sevenfold Lamps that burn in view 
Of cheiTibim and seraphim ; 
Through the four and twenty crowned 



286 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Stately elders, white around, — 
Suffer me to go to Him! 

" Is yom' wisdom very wise, 
Mother, on the narrow earth? 
Very happy, veiy worth 
That I should stay to learn ? 
Are these air-corrupting sighs 
Fashioned by unlearned breath ? 
Do the students' lamps that burn 
All night, illumine death? 
Mother, albeit this be so, 
Loose thy prayer and let me go 
Where that bright chief angel stands 
Apart from all his brother bands, 
Too glad for smiling ; having bent 
In angelic wilderment 
O'er the depths of God, and brought 
Reeling thence one only thought 
To fill his whole eternity. 
He the teacher is for me I 
He can teach what I would know ; — 
Mother, mother, let me go ! 

" Can your poet make an Eden 

No winter will undo ? 
And light a starry fire, while heeding 

His hearth's is burning too ? 
Drown in music the earth's din, 



FROM " ISOBEl's CHILD." 287 

And keep his own wild soul within 
The law of his own harmony ? 

Mother, albeit this be so 
Let me to my Heaven go ! 
A little harp me waits thereby, — 
A harp whose strings are golden all, 
And tuned to music spherical, 
Hanging on the green life-tree, 
Where no willows ever be. 
Shall I miss that harp of mine ? 
Mother, no ! — the Eye divine 
Turned upon it, makes it shine, — 
And when I touch it, poems sweet 
Like separate souls shall fly from it, 
Each to an immortal fytte. 
We shall all be poets there. 
Gazing on the chiefest Fair! 

" And love ! earth's love I and can we love 
Fixedly where all things move ? 
Can the sinning love each other ? 

Mother, mother ! 
I tremble in thy close embrace, — 
I feel thy tears adown my face, — 
Thy prayers do keep me out of bliss, — 

O dreary earthly love ! 
Loose thy prayer, and let me go 
To the place which loving is. 
Yet not sad I and when is given 



288 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Escape to thee from this below, 
Thou shalt behold me that I wait 
For thee beside the happy gate ; 
And silence shall be up in heaven 
To hear our meeting kiss." 

The nurse awakes in the morning sun, 
And starts to see beside her bed 
The lady, with" a grandeur spread, 
Like pathos, o'er her face, as one 
God-satisfied and earth-undone : — 
The babe upon her arm was dead ! 
And the nurse could utter forth no cry, — 
She was awed by the calm in the mother's eye. 

" "Wake, nurse I " the lady said ; 
" We are waking, — he and I, — 
1 on earth, and he in sky ! 
And thou must help me to o'erlay 
With garment white this little clay. 
Which needs no more our lullaby. 

" I changed the cruel prayer I made, 

And bowed my meekened face, and prayed 

That God would do his will ! and thus 

He did it, nurse : He parted us. 

And His sun shows victorious 

The dead, calm face ; and I am calm : 

And Heaven is hearkening a new psalm. 



FROM " ISOBEl's CHILD." 289 

This earthly noise is too aiiear, 
Too loud, and will not let me hear 
The little harp. My death will soon 
Make silence." 

And a sense of tune, 
A satisfied love, meanwhile. 
Which nothing earthly could despoil, 
Sang on within her soul. 

O you. 
Earth's tender and impassioned few, 
Take courage to intrust your love 
To Him so Named, who guards above 

Its ends, and shall fulfil ; 
Brealdng the narrow prayers that may 
Befit your narrow hearts, away 

In His broad, loving will. 



25 



290 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

THE INFANT SPIRIT'S PRAYER. 

LINES ADDRESSED TO A LADY TVHO HAD LOST HER 
HUSBAND AND CHILD. 

AXONYMOUS. 

*'In heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father." 

Silence filled the courts of heaven, hushed were 

angel harp and tone. 
While a little new-born spirit knelt before the 

Eternal throne. 
As his small white hands were lifted, clasped as 

if in earnest prayer, 
And his voice in low, sweet murmurs rose like 

music on the air. 
Light from the full fount of glory on his robes 

of whiteness glistened, 
And the bright-winged seraphs round him bowed 

their radiant heads and listened. 

" Lord, from thy world of glory here, 

My heart turns fondly to another : 
O Lord, our God! the Comforter, 

Comfort, comfort my sweet mother! 
Many sorrows hast thou sent her, 

iNIeekly hath she drained the cup, 
And the jewels thou hast lent her, 

Unrepining, yielded up : 
Comfort, comfort my sweet mother ! 



THE INFANT SPIRIT's PRAYER. 291 

" Earth is growing lonely round her, 

Friend and lover hast thou taken ; 
Let her not, though clouds surround her, 

Feel herself by thee forsaken. 
Let her think, while faint and weary. 

We are waiting for her here ; 
Let each thought that makes earth dreary 

Make the thought of heaven more dear. 

" Saviour, thou, in nature human. 

Dwelt on earth a little child. 
Pillowed on the breast of woman, 

Blessed Mary, undefiled. 
Thou, who from thy cross of suffering 

Viewed thy mother's tearful face. 
And bequeathed her to thy loved one, 

Bidding him to fill thy place. 
Comfort, comfort my sweet mother! 

*' Thou, who, from the heavens descending, 

Tears and woes and suffering won ; 
Thou, who, nature's laws suspending. 

Gave the widow back her son ; 
Thou, who at the grave of Lazarus 

Wept with those who wept their dead ; 
Thou, who once in mortal anguish 

Bowed thine own anointed head, — 
Comfort, comfort my sweet mother ! " 



292 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

The dove-like murmur died away upon the even- 
ing air, 
Yet still the little suppliant knelt, with hands still 

clasped in prayer, 
Still were the softly-pleading eyes turned to the 

sapphire throne, 
While angel harp and angel voice rang out in 

mingling tone ; 
And as the choral numbers swelled by angel 

voices given, 
High, loud, and clear the anthem rolled through 

all the courts of Heaven. 
" He is the A\ddow's God," it said, " who spared 

not his own Son." 
The infant spirit bowed its head, — " Thy v^ill, 

O God, be done I" 



RESIGNATION. 



H. W. LOXGFELLOW. 



There is no flock, however watched and tended. 

But one dead lamb is there I 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair ! 



RESIGNATION. 293 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 

Amid these earthly damps, 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death ! What seems so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian. 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She lives whom we call dead. 

25* 



294 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing. 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her. 

She will not be a child ; 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion. 

Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times, impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 

The grief that must have way. 



LINES TO A BEREAVED PARENT. 295 



LINES TO A BEREAVED PARENT. 

MRS. MARIA LOWELL. 

When on my ear your loss was knelled, 
And tender sympathy upburst, 

A little rill from memory swelled, 

Which once had soothed my bitter thirst. 

And I was fain to bear to you 
Some portion of its mild relief. 

That it might be as healing dew 
To steal some fever from your grief. 

After our child's untroubled breath 
Up to the Father took its way, 

And on our home the shade of death 
Like a long twilight haunting lay. 

And friends came round with us to weep 

Her little spirit's swift remove. 
This story of the Alpine sheep 

Was told to us by one we love : — 

" They, in the valley's sheltering care, 
Soon crop the meadow's tender prime. 

And when the sod grows brown and bare. 
The shepherd strives to make them climb 



296 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

" To airy shelves of pastures green, 
That hang along the mountain's side, 

"Where grass and flowers together lean, 

And down through mist the sunbeams slide. 

" But naught can tempt the timid things 
That steep and rugged path to try. 

Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, 
And seared below the pastures lie, — 

" Till in his arms their lambs he takes. 

Along the dizzy verge to go. 
Then, heedless of the lifts and breaks. 

They follow on o'er rocks and snow. 

" And in those pastures lifted fair. 
More dewy soft than lowland mead, 

The shepherd drops his tender care, 
And sheep and lambs together feed." 

This parable, by nature breathed, 
Blew on me as the south-wind free 

O'er frozen brooks that float unsheathed 
From icy thraldom to the sea. 

A blissful vision through the night 
Would all my happy senses sway, 

Of the good shepherd on the height, 
Or climbing up the stony way, 



BEREAVEMENT. 297 



Holding our little lamb asleep ; 

And, like the burden of the sea, 
Sounded that voice along the deep, 

Saying, '^ Arise and follow me I *' 



BEREAVEMENT. 



— LTBA ETN-OCE^sTIUM. 

•' The Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before." 

I MARKED when vernal meads were bright. 
And many a primrose smiled, 

I marked her, bright as morning light, 
A dimpled three years' child. 

A basket on one tender arm 

Contained her precious store 
Of spring-flowers in their freshest charm, 

Told proudly o'er and o'er. 

The other wound with. earnest hold 

About her blooming guide, 
A maid who scarce twelve years had told 

So walked they side by side. 

One a bright bud, and one might seem 
A sister flower half blown. 



298 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Full joyous on their loving dream 
The sky of April shone. 

The summer months swept by : again 

That loving pair I met. 
On russet heath, and bowery lane. 

The autumnal sun had set, 

And chill and damp that Sunday eve 
Breathed on the mourners' road. 

That bright-eyed little one to leave 
Safe in the saints' abode. 

Behind, the guardian sister came, 
Her bright brow dim and pale : — 

O cheer thee, maiden ! in His name 
Who stilled Jairus' wail ! 

Thou mourn'st to miss the fingers soft 
That held by thine so fast. 

The jFond appealing eye, full oft 
Toward thee for refuge cast. 

Sweet toils, sweet cares, for ever gone ! 

No more from stranger's face, 
Or startling sound, the timid one 

Shall hide in thine embrace. 

Thy first glad earthly task is o'er, 
And dreary seems thy way ; 



DEATH OF THE NEW-BAPTIZED. 299 

But what if nearer than before 
She w^ateh thee even to-day ? 

What if henceforth, by Heaven's decree, 

She leave thee not alone, 
But in her turn prove guide to thee 

In ways to angels known ? 

O yield thee to her whisperings sweet : 

Away with thoughts of gloom ! 
In love the loving spirits greet, 

Who wait to bless her tomb. 

In loving hope with her unseen 

Walk as in hallowed air. 
When foes are strong, and trials keen, 

Think, " What if she be there ? " 



DEATH OF THE NEW-BAPTIZED. 

KEBLE. — LYRA IXNOCENTIUM. 

What purer, brighter sight on earth, than when 
The sun looks down upon a drop of dew. 

Hid in some nook from all but angels' ken, 
And with his radiance bathes it through and 
through, 



300 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



Then into realms too clear for our frail view 
Exhales and draws it with absorbing love ? 

And what if Heaven therein give token true 
Of grace that new-born dying infants prove, 
Just touched with Jesus' light, then lost in joys 
above ? 



ON THE DEATH OF A BEAUTIFUL GIRL. 



SIRS. E. L. FOLLEN. 



The young, the lovely, pass away, 

Ne'er to be seen again ; 
Earth's fairest flowers too soon decay, 

Its blasted trees remain. 

Full oft we see the brightest thing 

That lifts its head on high 
Smile in the light, then droop its wing, 

And fade away and die. 

And kindly is the lesson given ; 

Then dry the falling tear : 
They came to raise our hearts to heaven, 

They go to call us there. 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 301 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 

S. G. BULETN-CH. 

Alas, sweet maid! hast thou so soon departed? 

Thou of the bright smile and the speaking eye, 
The good, the cheerful, and the gentle-hearted, — 

Who could have thought that thou so soon 
shouldst die ? 

To die so young, when all was bright before thee. 

When fond affection strewed thy path A\'ith 

flowers I 

Who could have thought so dark a doom was 

o'er thee, 

Fair being, formed for life's most radiant hours? 

How shall we miss thee where thy voice was 
heard ! 
How, where thy smile hath shed its light 
around ! 
And where we listened to the holy word. 

Dear friend, with thee, on yonder hallowed 
ground I 

Yes ; in the hour of happiness, a sigh. 

Sweet girl! shall witness that thou still art 
near ; 

26 



302 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

And many a season, as it hastens by, 
Shall bid the past in vivid light appear. 

But there are those who mourn thee with a deep, 
A heavier sorrow than 't is ours to know, — 

They who in childhood watched thy tranquil sleep, 
And smoothed the pillow for thy brow of snow. 

Friends of the orphan I He who gave your treasure 
Has taken to himself the boon he gave ; 

The pure, the gentle one, it was his pleasure 
From earth's dark sufferings early thus to save. 

Lament her not ! There, where her lovely spirit 
Abides, she glows with other thoughts than ours. 

Not all that earth's most favored ones inherit 
Could win her now to leave those heavenly 
bowers. 

There may we join her, Father I when the day 

Of duty and of trial here is done ; 
When earthly hope and fear have passed away, 

And the bright morn of endless life begun. 



303 



THE DYING HEBREW'S PRAYER. 

ANONYMOUS. 

A Hebrew knelt in the dying light : 

His eye was dim and cold, 
The hairs on his brow were silver white, 

And his blood was thin and old ! 
He lifted his looks to his latest sun, 

For he knew that his pilgrimage was done ; 
And as he saw God's shadow there, 

His spirit poured itself in prayer. 

" I come unto death's second birth. 

Beneath a stranger air, 
A pilgrim on a dull, cold earth. 

As all my fathers were ! 
And men have stamped me with a curse, — 

I feel it is not Thine ; 
Thy mercy, like yon sun, was made 

On me — as them — to shine ; 
And therefore dare I lift mine eye. 

Through that, to Thee, before I die. 

" In this great temple, built by Thee, 

Whose altars are divine. 
Beneath yon lamp that ceaselessly 

Lights up thine own true shrine, 



304 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

take my latest sacrifice ! 
Look down, and make this sod 

Holy as that where, long ago. 
The Hebrew met his God ! 

" I have not caused the widow's tears, 
Nor dimmed the orphan's eye, 

1 have not stained the virgin's years, 

Nor mocked the mourner's cry : 
The songs of Zion in mine ear 

Have ever been most sweet, 
And always, when I felt Thee near, 

My ' shoes ' were ' off my feet ' ! 

" I have known Thee in the whirlwind, 

I have known Thee on the hill, 
I have loved Thee in the voice of birds. 

Or the music of the rill I 
I dreamt Thee in the shadow, 

I saw Thee in the light, 
I heard Thee in the thunder-peal. 

And worshipped in the night ! 
All beauty, while it spoke of Thee, 

Still made my soul rejoice. 
And my spirit bowed within itself, 

To hear thy ^ still, small voice ' ! 
I have not felt myself a thing 

Far from thy presence driven. 
By flaming sword or waving wing 

Shut out from Thee and heaven ! 



THE DYING HEBREW^S PRAYER. 305 

" Must I the whirlwind reap, because 

My father sowed the storm ? 
Or shrink — because another sinned — 

Beneath Thy red right arm ? 
O, much of this we daily scan, 

And much is all unknown ; 
But I will not take my curse from mariy 

I turn to Thee alone I 
O, bid my fainting spirit live, 

And what is dark reveal, 
And what is evil, O forgive ! 

And what is broken, heal ; 
And cleanse my nature, from above, 
In the deep Jordan of thy love. 

" I know not if the Christian's heaven 

Shall be the same as mine ; 
I only ask to be forgiven, 

And taken home to thine ! 
I wander on a far, dim strand, 

^\'hose mansions are as tombs, 
And long to find the fatherland, 

Where there are many homes ! — 
O, grant, of all yon starry thrones, 

Some dim and distant star. 
Where Judah's lost and scattered sons 

May love Thee from afar ! 
Where all earth's myriad harps shall meet 

In choral praise and prayer, 

26 * 



306 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Shall Zion's harps — of old so sweet — 

Alone be wanting there ? 
Yet place me in thy lower seat, 

Though I — as now — be, there, 
The Christian's scorn, the Christian's jest ; 

But let me see and hear. 
From some dim mansion in the sky, 
Thy bright ones, and their melody ! " 

The sun goes down with sudden gleam ; 
And beautiful as a lovely dream. 

And silently as air, 
The vision of a dark-eyed girl, 

With long and raven hair, 
Glides in as guardian spirits glide, 
And lo ! is kneeling by his side. 
As if her sudden presence there 
Were sent in answer to his prayer ! 
(O, say they not that angels tread 
Around the good man's dying bed?) 
His child, his sweet and sinless child ! 

And as he gazed on her. 
He knew his God was reconciled, 

And this the messenger, 
As sure as God had hung on high 
The promise-bow before his eye ! 
Earth's purest hope thus o'er him flung 

To point his heavenward faith, 



THE BURIAL AT SEA. 307 

And life's most holy feeling strung 

To sing him unto death ! 
And on his daughter's stainless breast 
The dying Hebrew found his rest. 



THE BURIAL AT SEA. 



CHARLKS SPRAGUE. 



Spare him one little week, Almighty Power ! 
Yield to his father's house his dying hour ; 
Once more, once more let them who hold him dear 
But see his face, his faltering voice but hear; 
We know, alas! that he is marked for death, 
But let his mother watch his parting breath ; 
O, let him die at home ! 

It could not be ! 
At midnight, on a dark and stormy sea. 
Far from his kindred and his native land. 
His pangs unsoothed by tender womg.n's hand. 
The patient victim in his cabin lay. 
And meekly breathed his blameless life away. 
* * * * * 

Wrapped in the raiment that it long must wear, 
His body to the deck they slowly bear ; 



308 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

How eloquent, how awful in its power, 
The silent lecture of death's Sabbath-hour ! 
One voice that silence breaks, — the prayer is said, 
And the last rite man pays to man is paid ; 
The flashing waters mark his resting-place, . 
And fold him round in one long, cold embrace ; 
Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o'er. 
Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more ; 
Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep. 
With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep. 

Rest, loved one, rest, — beneath the billow's 

sweU, 
Where tongue ne'er spoke, where sunlight never 

feU; 
E/Cst, — till the God who gave thee to the deep 
Rouse thee, triumphant, from the long, long sleep. 
And you, whose hearts are bleeding, who deplore 
That ye must see the wanderer's face no more. 
Weep, — he was worthy of the purest grief; 
Weep, — in such sorrow ye shall find relief ; 
While o'er his doom the bitter tear ye shed, 
Memory shall trace the virtues of the dead ; 
These canijot die, — for you, for him, they bloom, 
And scatter fragrance round his ocean tomb. 



VERSES. 309 



VERSES 

SUGGESTED BY THE DECEASE OF THE REV. MR. WRIGHT 
OF BOSTON, MISSIONARY AT LIBERIA, WITH HIS LADY, 
IN 1833; BOTH IN THE BLOOM OF YOUTH. 

B. B. THATCHEK. 

Weep not for him ! He but rose to his rest 
From his own dear land of the fervid line, 

With the silvery sheaves of his dawn all gleaned 
Ere bright dews blazoned his noon's decline. 

He shall toil with tears in the gloom of a dim, 

Lone harvest no more : O weep not for him ! 

And weep not for her ! They have laid the dust 

Of the early exile so softly away. 
In the pleasant shade of the plantain-tree, 

That the Judgment Angels, who seek that day 
The jewels of glory, ^vill scarcely stir 
So sweet a slumber : weep not for her ! 

Weep not ! In the clime where the sinless meet, 
Lingers no lonely yearning for this, — 

As the pilgrims mourned (and smUed the while) 
In dreams,* o'er the visions of vanished bliss. 

No sorrow enters that radiant realm, — 

No mourning, nor yearning : O weep not for them ! 



* Alluding to a passage in Mr. Wright's Journal of his Voyage to 
Liberia. 



310 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 



TO ]\IY FRIEND, ON THE DEATH OF HIS 

SISTER. 

J. G. WHITTIEE. 

Thine is a grief, the depth of which another 

May never know ; 
Yet o'er the waters, O my stricken brother ! 

To thee I go. 

I lean my heart unto thee, — sadly folding 

Thy hand in mine, — 
With even the weakness of my soul upholding 

The strength of thine. 

I never knew, like thee, the dear departed ; 

I stood not by 
When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted 

Lay down to die. 

And on thy ear my words of weak condoling 

INIust vainly fall : 
The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling 

Sounds over all! 

I will not mock thee with the poor world's common 

And heartless phrase, 
Nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman 

With idle praise. 



ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 311 

With silence only as their benediction 

God's angels come, 
Where in the shadow of a great affliction 

The soul sits dumb ! 

Yet would I say what thy own heart approveth : 

Our Father's will, 
Calling to him, the dear one whom he loveth, 

Is mercy still. 

Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel 

Hath evil wrought : 
Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel 

The good die not! 

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly 

What He hath given ; 
They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly 

As in His heaven. 

And she is with thee. In thy path of trial 

She walketh yet. 
StUl with the baptism of thy self-denial 

Her locks are w^et. 

Up, then, my brother ! Lo, the fields of harvest 

Lie white in view ! 
She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest 

To both is true. 



312 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Thrust in thy sickle ! — England's toil-worn peas- 
ants 

Thy call abide ; 
And she thou mourn' st, a pure and holy presence, 

Shall glean beside ! 



THE TWO Al^GELS. 



H. W. LONGFELLOW. 



Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, 
Passed o'er the village as the morning broke ; 

The dawn was on their faces, and beneath. 
The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of 
smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were the same, 

Alike their features and their robes of white ; 

But one was crowned with amaranth, as with 
flame, 
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. 

I saw them pause on their celestial way ; 

Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed : 
" Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray 

The place where thy beloved are at rest ! " 



THE TWO ANGELS. 313 

And he who wore the crown of asphodels, 
Descending, at my door began to knock, 

And my soul sank within me, as in wells 

The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 

I recognized the nameless agony, 

The terror and the tremor and the pain. 

That oft before had filled and haunted me, 

And now returned with threefold strength again. 

The door I opened to my heavenly guest, 

And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice, 

And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best. 
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. 

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 
" My errand is not Death, but Life," he said ; 

And, ere I answered, passing out of sight, 
On his celestial embassy he sped. 

'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine. 
The angel with the amaranthine wreath. 

Pausing, descended, and, w^ith voice divine. 
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. 

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 
A shadow on those features fair and thin ; 

And softly, firom that hushed and darkened room, 
Two angels issued, where but one went in. 
27 



314 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

All is of God I If he but wave his hand, 

The mists collect, the raiii falls thick and loud, 

Till with a smile of light on sea and land, 
Lol he looks back from the departing cloud. 

* Angels of Life and Death alike are his ; 

Without his leave, they pass no threshold o'er ; 
Who, then, would wdsh or dare, believing this, 
Against his messengers to shut the door ? 



FOLLEN. 

ON READING HIS ESSAY ON " THE FTJTUEE STATE. 
J. G. WHITTIKK- 

Friexd of my soul I — as with moist eye 
I look up from this page of thine. 

Is it a dream that thou art nigh. 
Thy mild face gazing into mine? 

That presence seems before me now, 
A placid heaven of sweet moonrise, 

When, dew-like, on the earth below 
Descends the quiet of the skies ; — 



FOLLEN. 315 

The calm brow through the parted hair, 
The gentle lips which knew no guile, 

Softening the blue eye's thoughtful care 
With the bland beauty of their smile. 

Ah me ! — at times that last dread scene 
Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea 

Will cast its shade of doubt between 
The failing eyes of Faith, and thee. 

Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page, 
Where through the twilight air of earth, 

Alike enthusiast and sage, 

Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth, 

Lifting the Future's solemn veil. 

The reaching of a mortal hand 
To put aside the cold and pale 

Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land ! 

In thoughts which answer to my own, 
In words which reach my inward ear. 

Like whispers from the void Unknown, 
I feel thy living presence here. 

The waves which lull thy body's rest. 
The dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod, 

Unwasted, through each change, attest 
The fixed economy of God. 



316 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Shall these poor elements outlive 

The mind whose kingly will they wrought ? 
Their gross unconsciousness survive 

Thy godlike energy of thought ? 

Thou livest, Follen ! — not in vain 
Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne 

The bui'den of Life's cross of pain, 

And the thorned crown of suffering worn. 

Oh ! while Life's solemn mystery glooms 
Around us like a dungeon's wall, — 

Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs. 
Silent the heaven which bends o'er all ! — 

"While day by day our loved ones glide 
In spectral silence, hushed and lone, 

To the cold shadows which divide 

The living from the dread Unknown ; — 

While ever on the closing eye. 

And on the lip which moves in vain, 

The seals of that stern mystery 
Their undiscovered trust retain ; — 

And only 'midst the gloom of death. 
Its mournful doubts and haunting fears. 

Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith, 
Smile dimly on us through their tears ; — 



FOLLEN. 317 

'T is something to a heart Uke mine 

To think of thee as living yet ; 
To feel that such a light as thine 

Could not in utter darkness set. 

Less dreary seems the untried way 

Since thou hast left thy footprints there, 

And beams of mournful beauty play 
Round the sad angel's sable hair. 

Oh! at this hour when half the sky 
Is glorious with its evening light, 

And fair broad fields of summer lie 

Hung o'er with greenness in my sight ; — 

While through these elm-boughs wet with rain 
The sunset's golden walls are seen, 

With clover bloom and yellow grain 

And wood-draped hill and stream between ; — 

I long to know if scenes like this 
Are hidden from an angel's eyes ; 

If earth's familiar loveliness 

Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies. 

For sweetly here upon thee grew 
The lesson which that beauty gave. 

The ideal of the Pure and True 
In earth and sky and gliding wave. 

27* 



318 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

And it may be that all which lends 
The soul an upward impulse here, 

With a diviner beauty blends, 
And greets us in a holier sphere. 

Through gi'oves where blighting never fell. 
The humbler flowers of earth may twine ; 

And simple draughts from childhood's well 
Blend with the angel-tasted wine. 

But be the prying vision veiled, 

And let the seeking lips be dumb, — 

"Where even seraph eyes have failed. 
Shall mortal blindness seek to come ? 

We only know that thou hast gone. 
And that the same returnless tide 

W^hich bore thee from us still glides on, 
And we who mourn thee with it glide. 

On all thou lookest we shall look, 
And to our gaze erelong shall turn 

That page- of God's mysterious book 
We so much wish, yet dread, to learn. 

With Him, before whose awful power 
Thy spirit bent its trembling knee, — 

Who, in the silent greeting flower, 

And forest leaf, looked out on thee, — 



LINES ON CHANNING. 319 

We leave thee, with a trust serene 

Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, 
While with thy childlike faith we lean 

On Him whose dearest name is Love ! 



LINES ON CHANNING. 

MRS. L. J. HALL. 

When sinks the sun, shall we forget 
That but to us his beams are set ? 
When holy spirits pass away. 
Shall we but weep o'er feeble clay ? 

With aspirations like thine own, 
Pure being, whom we dare not mourn, 
O let us mark, where dwells " no night," 
A new-born, active, burning light. 

Shine on for ever, tranquil star ! 
Though in far heaven thy glories are. 
Their solemn beams shall from this hour 
Fall on our souls with added power. 

Each thrilling cadence, each mild word 
Of love or wisdom we have heard. 
From gifted lips now still and cold. 
Shall be imbued with power untold. 



320 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Go, Christian sage ! Death now hath wrought 
On pages glowing with thy thought ; 
Death, who hath calmed all pain, hath sealed 
Thy power on earth, — and heaven revealed. 



DEATH. 



WRITTEN AFTER READING DR. BRAZER'S SERMON ON THE 
DEATH OF HONORABLE LEVERETT SALTONSTAXL. 



C. J. FOX. 

And is this death ? His suffering o'er, 

Is this but lifeless clay ? 
Stands the freed soul before the throne 
Of endless day ? 

O human life ! mysterious soul ! 

Breath of the living God ! 
Its frame has now an angel's power, 
Is now a clod I 

So calm he lived, without complaint, 

We scarce could think him ill ; 
And the same look he wore in life 
Is on him still. 



A DEATH-BED. 321 

His heart replete with Christian grace 

Found joy in suffering ; 

To him the grave no victory had, 

And death no sting. 

May I so live, that, when I feel 

Death knocking at my heart, 
My faith may bid all fear " Be still I " 
As I depart. 



A DEATH-BED. 



JAMES ALDRICH. 



Her suffering ended with the day, 

Yet lived she at its close. 
And breathed the long, long night away. 

In statue-like repose. 

But when the sun, in all his state. 

Illumed the eastern skies, 
She passed through glory's morning gate. 

And walked in Paradise ! 



322 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

THE MARTYRDOM OF PERPETUA. 
A. B. 202. 

S. G. BULFINCH. 

There sat within a dungeon's gloom 

A female form of mournful grace. 
Thoughts of her stern approaching doom 

Had driven the rose-tint from her face. 
Yet not for that, amid her woe, 

Did her high heart its faith resign ; 
And that pale cheek at times would glow 

With light, whose glory was divine. 

They came, the dear ones of her hearth, 

To whom her earthly love was given ; 
They strove to win again to earth 

The spirit, ready now for heaven. 
Husband and sister sued in vain. 

In vain, though burning tears replied ; 
To love she gave those drops of pain, 

Triumphant over all beside. 

Her aged father came and knelt, 

Bowed his white locks before his child ; 

And the sad daughter deeply felt. 

Yet through her tears looked up and smiled. 

They brought her infant ; as he lay 
Before her, in his slumber fair. 



THE MARTYRDOM OF PERPETUA. 323 

Almost the mother's heart gave way, 
But God had heard his martyr's prayer. 

Her strength arose. " My child shall be 

Safe in thy sheltering care, my God ! 
I give him, this sad hour, to thee : 

And when this dreadful path is trod, 
May I not hope in robes of light 

To hover o'er his slumbering head. 
And o'er my father's locks of white 

A spirit-daughter's blessing shed ? " 

She died ; that spirit, calm and high. 

Sustained her through the dreadful hour ; 
She died as those alone can die 

Whom faith in God has girt with power. 
To her own fearless heart, her hand 

Guided the gladiator's sword. 
Yet, through their grief, the Christian band 

That night the hymn of triumph poured. 

The pure, the faithful, was at rest ; 

For her a glorious crown was won, 
And now in mansions of the blest 

On that fair brow for ever shone. 
And courage rose to meet their death 

In those the Christians' path who trod ; 
And, won by her undaunted faith, 

A thousand heathen turned to God. 



324 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

SONNET. 

1 CORINTHIANS XV. 

GEORGE LUNT. 

O FOOL, to judge that He who from the earth 
Created man, cannot his form restore I 
The scattered elements from every shore 

Call back and clothe with a celestial birth ! 

See from its sheath the buried seed break forth 
Blade, stalk, leaf, bud, and now the perfect 

flower. 
Changing and yet the same, and of His power 

A token each ; and art thou counted worth 

Less than the meanest herb ? Changed from the 
dust. 
And little lower than the angels made, 
More changed by sin, to death itself betrayed. 

Yet heir of heaven by an immortal trust. 

Doubter unwise, in reason's narrow school, 

Well might the great Apostle say, " Thou fool!" 



A FUNERAL SONG. 325 

A FUNERAL SONG. 

FROM *' THE FUNERAL DAY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT." 
MRS. HEMANS. 

Lowly and solemn be 
Thy children's cry to thee, 

Father divine ! 
A hymn of suppliant breath, 
Owning that life and death 

Alike are thine ! 

A spirit on its way 
Sceptred the earth to sway 

From thee was sent : 
Now call'st thou back thine own, — 
Hence is that radiance flown, 

To earth but lent. 

Watching in breathless awe. 
The bright head bowed we saw 

Beneath thy hand ! 
Filled by one hope, one fear, 
Now o'er a brother's bier 

Weeping we stand. 

How hath he passed, — the lord 
Of each deep bosom chord, — 
To meet thy sight ! 

28 



326 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Unmantled and alone. 



On thy blest mercy thrown, 
O Infinite ! 

So from his harvest home 
Must the tired peasant come ; 

So, in one trust. 
Leader and king must yield 
The naked soul, revealed * 

To thee, AllJustI 

The sword of many a fight, — 
What then shall be its might ? 

The lofty lay 
That rushed on eagle ^\dng, — 
What shall its memory bring ? 

What hope, what stay ? 

O Father ! in that hour. 

When earth all succoring power 

Shall disavow, — 
When spear, and shield, and crown 
Li faintness are cast down, — 

Sustam us, Thou I 

By Him who bowed to take 
The death-cup for our sake. 

The thorn, the rod, — 
From whom the last dismay 
Was not to pass away, — 

Aid us, O God ! 



THE ANGEL BY THE TOMB. 327 

Tremblers beside the grave, 
We call on thee to save, 

Father divine I 
Hear, hear our suppliant breath, 
Keep us, in life and death. 

Thine, only thine ! 



THE ANGEL BY THE TOjMB. 



SARAH F. ADAMS. 



The mourners came at break of day 

Unto the garden sepulchre. 
With darkened hearts, to weep and pray 
For Him, the loved one buried there. 
What radiant light dispels the gloom ? 
An angel sits beside the tomb. 

The Earth doth mourn her treasures lost. 

All sepulchred beneath the snow. 
When wintry winds and chilling frost 
Have laid her summer glories low : 

The spring returns, the flowerets bloom, 
An angel sits beside the tomb. 

Then mourn we not beloved dead ; 

E'en while we come to weep and pray. 



328 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

The happy spirit far hath fled, 

To brighter realms of endless day : 
Immortal Hope dispels the gloom ! 
An angel sits beside the tomb. 



THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. 

MRS. CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. 

Tread softly ! bow the head, — 
In reverent silence bow I 

No passing-bell doth toll, 

Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger I however great. 
With lowly reverence bow ; 

There 's one in that poor shed, — 

One by that paltry bed. 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! Death doth keep his state ; 

Enter, — no crowds attend ; 

Enter, — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 



THE pauper's death-bed. 329 

That pavement, damp and cold, 

No smiling courtiers tread ; 
One silent woman stands. 
Lifting with meagre hands 

A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound, — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed, — again 
That short, deep gasp, — and then 

The parting groan I 

O change ! O wondrous change ! 

Burst are the prison bars ! 
This moment there, so low. 
So agonized, and now 

Beyond the stars ! 

O change ! stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod : 
The sun eternal breaks. 
The new immortal wakes, — 

Wakes with his God. 



28* 



330 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

THE PRESENCE OF THE DEPARTED. 

HIRAM WITHINGTON. 

" Are they not all ministermg spirits ? " 

The sainted dead ! think you they linger not, 

Nor e'er to this lone world return again ? 
Say, do they not revisit each loved spot 

Whose sight doth waken such a thrilling 

strain 
Within our longing hearts ? O, not in vain 
They came and went I nor severed are those 
ties 
That bound them to this life of joy and pain : 
They come, — they come, — and bid our spirits 
rise. 
And dwell in peace with them, beneath the 
heavenly skies ! 

They are about us ; — as when Israel's flight 

God's spu'it guided through the desert's sand, 
In cloud by day and fiery lamp by night. 
And led in "feafety to the promised land, — 
So romid our path these guardian spirits 
stand. 
To shield us 'mid temptation's fiery heat ; 

In sorrow's night to take us by the hand, 
And lead us gently to that mercy-seat 
Whence comes celestial light to guide our wan- 
dering feet. 



THE PRESENCE OF THE DEPARTED. 331 

They come, where, in life's weary hours of 
care, 
The fainting heart is burdened, tempted, 
tried ; 
Bringing from heaven the strength to do and 
bear. 
The Father's pitying mercy hath supplied ; 
Beneath our roof at evening they abide. 
Like angel-guests whom Abraham fed of yore. 
Through the night's stillness watching by 

our side, 
Giving us visions of the world before, — 
That world of tranquil rest where partings come 
no more. 

God's ministers, they watch each step of ours. 
The loved and lost that on life's morning 
smiled ; 
Amidst our sleeping and unconscious hours. 
They speak within our hearts in accents 

mild; 
And, as a mother soothes her fretful child, 
With words of strength and peace our souls 
they cheer : 
O, could we calm our earthly passions wild, 
And see this spirit-host for ever near, 
We ne'er could feel that all alone we wander 
here ! 



332 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

"CALL THEM FROM THE DEAD." 

W. J. FOX. 

Call them from the dead 

For our eyes to see : 
Prophet-bards, whose awful word 
Shook the earth, " Thus saith the Lord," 

And made the idols flee ; — 
A glorious company ! 

Call them from the dead 

For our eyes to see : 
Sons of wisdom, song, and power, 
Giving earth her richest dower, 

And making nations free ; — 
A glorious company I 

Call them from the dead 

For our eyes to see : 
Forms of beauty, love, and grace, 
" Sunshine in the shady place," 

That made it life to be ; — 
A blessed company ! 

Call them from the dead, — 

Vain the call will be ; 
But the hand of Death shall lay. 
Like that of Christ, its healing clay 

On eyes which then shall see 
That glorious company ! 



IT IS TOLD ME I MUST DIE." 333 



"IT IS TOLD ME I MUST DIE." 

WRITTE:?^ by RICHARD LANGHORNE, BEFORE HIS EXECU- 
TION, UPON AN UNJUST CHARGE OF TREASON, IN THE 
REIGN Oy CHARLES THE SECOND. 

SARGENT'S SELECTION. 

It is told me I must die : 
O happy news ! 
Be glad, O my soul, 
And rejoice in Jesus, the Saviour ! 
If he intended thy perdition 
Would he have laid down his life for thee ? 
Would he have called thee with so much love, 
And illuminated thee with the light of the Sphit? 

Would he have given thee his cross. 
And given thee shoulders to bear it with patience? 

It is told me I must die : 

O happy news ! 
Come on, my dearest soul ! 

Behold, thy Jesus calls thee ! 
He prayed for thee upon his cross ; 
There he extended his arms to receive thee ; 
There he bowed down his head to kiss thee ; 
There he opened his heart to give thee entrance ; 
There he gave up his life to purchase life for thee. 

It is told me I must die : 
O what happiness I 



334 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

I am going 

To the place of my rest ; 

To the land of the living ; 

To the haven of security ; 

To the kingdom of peace ; 

To the palace of my God ; 

To the nuptials of the Lamb ; 

To sit at the table of my King ; 

To feed on the bread of angels ; 

To see what no eye hath seen ; 

To hear what no ear hath heard ; 
To enjoy what the heart of man cannot compre- 
hend. 

O my Father ! 
O thou best of all fathers, 
Have pity on the most wretched of all thy chil- 
dren ! 
I was lost, but by thy mercy found ; 
I was dead, but by thy grace am now raised 
again ; 
I was gone astray after vanity, 
But I am now ready to appear before thee, 

O my Father! 
Come, now, in mercy, and receive thy child ! 
Give him thy kiss of peace ; 
Remit unto him all his sins ; 
Clothe him with thy nuptial robe ; 
Permit him to have a place at thy feast ; 
And forgive all those who are guilty of his death. 



FOR COMFORT IN DEATH. 335 



FOR COiVirORT IN DEATH. 



In the hour of my distress, 
When temptations me oppress, 
And when I my sins confess. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When I lie within my bed, 
Sick in heart, and sick in head, 
And with doubts disquieted, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the house doth sigh and weep, 
And the world is drowned in sleep, 
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the passing-bell doth toll, 
And the Furies, in a shoal. 
Come to fright my parting soul, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When, God knows, I 'm tost about, 
Either with despair or doubt, — 
Yet before the glass be out, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 



336 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

When the Tempter me pursu'th 
With the sins of all my youth, 
And half damns me wdth untruth, 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 

When the judgment is revealed. 
And that opened which was sealed, 
When to Thee I have appealed. 
Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 



DAYS OF MY YOUTH. 



ST. GEORGE TUCKEE. 



Days of my youth, ye have glided away ; 
Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray ; 
Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more ; 
Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er ; 
Strength of my youth, all your vigor is gone ; 
Thoughts of my youth, your gay visions are flown. 

Days of my youth, I wish not your recall ; 
Hairs of my youth, I 'm content ye should fall ; 
Eyes of my youth, ye much evil have seen ; 
Cheeks of my youth, bathed in tears ye have been ; 
Thoughts of my youth, ye have led me astray ; 
Strength of my youth, why lament your decay ? 



FAREWELL TO LIFE. 337 

Days of my age, ye will shortly be past ; 
Pains of my age, yet awhile can ye last ; 
Joys of my age, in true wisdom delight ; 
Eyes of my age, be religion your light ; 
Thoughts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod ; 
Hopes of my age, be ye fixed on your God. 



FAREWELL TO LIFE. 

LINES WRITTEN BY KORNER, WHEN HE LAY DANGEROUS- 
LY WOUNDED AND HELPLESS, IN A FOREST, EXPECT- 
ING TO DIE. 

TRANSLATED BY DR. FOLLEN. 

This smarting wound, — these lips so pale and 
chill! — 

My heart, with faint and fainter beating, says, 

I stand upon the borders of my days. 
Amen ! my God, I own thy holy will. 
The golden dreams, that once my soul did fill. 

The songs of mirth, become sepulchral lays. 

Faith ! faith ! That truth which all my spirit 
sways. 
Yonder, as here, must live within me still. 
And what I held as sacred here below. 
What I embraced with quick and youthful glow, 

29 



338 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Whether I called it liberty, or love, 

A seraph bright I see it stand above ; 

And as my senses slowly pass away, 

A breath transports me to the realms of day. 



A POET'S DYING HYIMN. 

MRS. HE3IANS. 

Be mute -who will, who can, 
Yet I will praise Thee with impassioned voice ! 
Me didst thou constitute a priest of thine 
In such a temple as we now behold, 
Reared for thy presence ; therefore am I bound 
To worship, here and everywhere. 

Wordsworth. 

The blue, deep, glorious heavens ! I lift my eye. 
And bless thee, O my God ! that I have met 

And owned thine image in the majesty 

Of then- calm temple still I — that never yet 

There hath thy face been shrouded from my sight 

By noontide blaze, or sweeping storm of night, — 
I bless thee, O my God I 

That now still clearer, from their pure expanse, 
I see the mercy of thine aspect shine. 

Touching death's features with a lovely glance 
Of light, serenely, solemnly divine. 



HYMN. 339 

And lending to each holy star a ray- 
As of kind eyes, that woo my soul away, — - 
I bless thee, O my God ! 

That I have heard thy voice, nor been afraid. 
In the earth's garden, — 'midst the mountains 
old, 
And the low thrillings of the forest shade, 

And the wild sounds of waters uncontrolled. 
And upon many a desert plain and shore, — 
No solitude, for there I felt Thee more, — 
I bless thee, O my God I 

And if thy spirit on thy child hath shed 
The gift, the vision of the unsealed eye. 

To pierce the mist o'er life's deep meanings spread, 
To reach the hidden fountain urns that lie 

Far in man's heart, — if I have kept it free 

And pure, a consecration unto thee, — 

I bless thee, O my God ! 

If my soul's utterance hath by thee been fraught 
"With an awakening power, — if thou hast made 
Like the winged seed the breathings of my 
thought. 
And by the swift winds bid them be conveyed 
To lands of other lays, and there become 
Native as early melodies of home, — 

I bless thee, O my God ! 



340 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Not for the brightness of a mortal wreath, 
Nor for a place 'midst kingly minstrels dead, 

But that perchance a faint gale of thy breath, 
A still, small whisper in my song, hath led 

One struggling spirit upwards to thy throne, 

Or but one hope, one prayer, — for this alone 
I bless thee, O my God ! 

That I have loved, — that I have known the love 
Which troubles in the soul the tearful springs, 

Yet with a coloring halo from above 
Tinges and glorifies all earthly things, 

Whate'er its anguish or its woe may be. 

Still weaving links for intercourse with thee, — 
I bless thee, O my God ! 

That by the passion of its deep distress, 

And by the o'erflowing of its mighty prayer, 

And by the yearning of its tenderness. 

Too full for words upon their stream to bear, 

I have been drawn still closer to thy shrine. 

Well-spring of love, the unfathomed, the divine ; 
I bless thee, O my God I 

That hope hath ne'er my heart or song forsaken, 
High hope, which e'en from mystery, doubt, or 
dread. 

Calmly, rejoicingly, the things hath taken 

Whereby its torchlight for the race was fed, — 



341 



That passing storms have only fanned the fire 
Which pierced them still with its triumphant 
spire, — 

I bless thee, O my God ! 

Now art thou calling me in every gale. 

Each sound and token of the dying day ; 
Thou leavest me not, though early life grows 
pale; 
I am not darkly sinking to decay ; 
But hour by hour, my soul's dissolving shroud 
Melts off to radiance, as a silvery cloud. 

I bless thee, O my God ! 

And if this earth, with all its choral streams, 
And crowning woods, and soft or solemn skies, 

And mountain sanctuaries for poet's dreams. 
Be lovely still in my departing eyes, — 

'T is not that fondly I would linger here, 

But that thy footprints on its dust appear. 
I bless thee, O my God I 

And that the tender shadowing I behold, 
The tracery veining every leaf and flower. 

Of glories cast in more consummate mould. 
No longer vassals to the changeful hour, — 

That life's last roses to my thoughts can bring 

Rich visions of imperishable spring, — 

I bless thee, O my God. 

29 # 



342 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Yes ! the young vernal voices in the skies 

Woo me not back, but, wandering past mine 
ear, 
Seem heralds of the eternal melodies, 

The spirit-music, imperturbed and clear; 
The full of soul, yet passionate no more, — 
Let me too, joining those pure strains, adore! 
I bless thee, O my God ! 

Now aid, sustain me still ! — to thee I come. 

Make thou my dwelling where thy children are ; 
And for the hope of that immortal home. 

And for thy Son, the bright and morning star, 
The sufferer and the victor-king of death, 
I bless thee with my glad song's djdng breath I 
I bless thee, O my God I 



"LIVING OR DYING, LORD, I WOULD BE THINE." 

PARAPHRASED FROM FEXELON. 

Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine! 

what is life ? 
A toil, a strife. 

Were it not lighted by thy love divine. 

1 ask not wealth, — 

I crave not health, — 
Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine ! 



ON . 343 

O what is death ? 

When the poor breath 
In parting can the soul to thee resign ; 

While patient love 

Her trust doth prove. 
Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine ! 

Throughout my days, 

Be constant praise 
Uplift to thee from out this heart of mine : 

So shall I be 

Brought nearer thee. 
Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine ! 



ON 



K. M. MILNES. 



Gently supported on the ready aid 

Of loving hands, whose little work of toil 

Her grateful prodigality repaid 

With all the benediction of her smile, 

She turned her failing feet 

To the soft-pillowed seat. 

Dispensing kindly greetings all the while. 

Before the tranquil beauty of her face 
I bowed in spirit, thinking that she were 



344 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

A suffering Angel, whom the special grace 

Of God intrusted to our pioils care, 

That we might learn from her 

The art to minister 

To heavenly beings in seraphic air. 

There seemed to lie a weight upon her brain 

That ever pressed her blue-veined eyelids down, 

But could not dim her lustrous eyes with pain. 

Nor seam her forehead with the faintest frown : 

She was as she were proud, 

So young, to be allowed 

To follow Him who wore the thorny crown. 

Nor was she sad, but over every mood 

To which her lightly-pliant mind gave birth. 

Gracefully changing, did a spirit brood 

Of quiet gayety and serenest mirth ; 

And thus her voice did flow 

So beautifully low, 

A stream whose music was no thing of earth. 

Now long that instrument has ceased to sound. 

Now long that gracious form in earth has lain 

Tended by nature only, and unwound 

Are all those mingled threads of love and pain ; 

So let me weep, and bend 

My head and wait the end, 

Knowing that God creates not thus in vain. 



FRAGMENT. 345 



FRAGMENT FOUND IN A SKELETON-CASE. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Behold this ruin ! 't is a skull, 

Once of ethereal spirit full. 

This narrow ceU was life's retreat ; 

This space was thought's mysterious seat. 

What beauteous pictures filled this spot ! 

What dreams of pleasure, long forgot ! 

Nor grief nor joy, nor hope nor fear, 

Has left one trace or record here ! 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye. 

Yet start not at that dismal void : 

If social love that eye employed, 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed. 

But with the dew of kindness beamed, 

That eye shall be for ever bright 

When stars and suns have lost their light. 

Here, in this silent cavern, hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. 

If falsehood's honey it disdained. 

And, where it could not praise, was chained, 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke. 



346 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 
When death unveils eternity ! 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine 
Or with its envied rubies shine ? 
To hew the rock or wear the gem 
Can nothing now avail to them. 
But if the page of truth they sought, 
And comfort to the mourners brought, 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that waits on wealth or fame ! 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
Those feet the paths of duty trod ? 
If from the bowers of joy they sped 
To soothe affliction's humble bed, 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned. 
And home to virtue's lap returned, 
Those feet with angels' wings shall vie. 
And tread the palace of the sky ! 



347 



WHITEFIELD'S EEMAINS.^ 



MISS H. F. GOULD. 



Ye sacred relics, not with foot profane • - 
Would I disturb the quiet of the dead. 

"Where, wrapped in shades and stillness, ye have 
lain 
Till more than half a century hath fled ! 

I have no vainly curious eye to see 

How strange the works of time and death ap- 
pear, — 
To find the sentence of mortality, 

" Ashes to ashes," executed here. 

Yet I from infancy have longed to look. 
For once, on you, then bid a long farewell ; 

Since 't was from you great Whitefield's spirit 
took 
Her flight to mansions where the blessed dwell ! 

Ye were her earthen vessel ! — and ye bore 
That goodly treasure on, from clime to clime ! 

Ye were the fine-wrought texture that she wore, 
And gently dropped, as closed the scene of 
time. 



* Deposited beneath the pulpit of the First Presbyterian Church 
in Newburyport, Mass. 



348 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 

Here, hallowed dust ! thou still hast slumbered on, 
While o'er thy rest the beauteous feet of those 

Who brought salvation's news have stood, then 
gone, 
Tired with life's journey, to the grave's repose. 

And wilt thou linger yet, till he who stands 
Above thee now, the Gospel to proclaim. 

Has ceased to lift in prayer his holy hands. 
And monumental marble speaks his name ? 

O wait not this I * — but go and sleep unseen, 
Deep in the bosom of thy mother earth ! 

Let nature deck thy couch with living green. 
Till, changed, the archangel's trump shall call 
thee forth ! 

And now, farewell ! I have been told by thee 
The things a thousand tongues would fail to 
say: 
Thou bidst the mortal part its value see, — 
The soul mount up where Whitefield's led 
the way ! 



* The removal of these remains to the public burial-ground was 
contemplated at the time this was written. 



THE END. 



\ 



